


Blacker than the White of the Snow

by Lunabellie



Series: Blacker than the White of the Snow series [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Ozai being his usual assholeish self, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunabellie/pseuds/Lunabellie
Summary: When he is ten, they come and they take him.He is to be the playmate and servant of Prince Zuko.





	1. Prologue: Blacker than I Know

He’s ten when they come, announcing their arrival with sooty black snow falling from his once familiar sky. He looks back to his little sister and sees his own confusion mirrored on her round face. He drops the snowball he had planned to throw at her, it falls at his feet with a muffled _thump_ that he barely hears.

Around them, the men are springing to action. The entire tribe has stopped their daily activities to fluster around in haste—no—confusion. People are rushing around, but nobody seems to be taking charge. Not even his father, the chief of the tribe, can be seen. His confusion morphs into a slow building fear. Something was very, very wrong.

Katara seems to sense it too. Her little eyebrows are pinched together, and her icy blue eyes seem to glisten. Her voice wobbles when she tells him, “I’m going to go find mum.”

Without waiting for his answer, she runs by him. He lets her go, watching her retreating back race toward their hut. His fear is starting to make him feel sick. There’s a cloying, heavy feeling on his chest.

“To me!” He hears a sudden familiar booming voice yell above the rabble, “warriors to me!”

The answering war cry is scarier than the black snow. It comes from all around him, from the men who’ve gathered their weapons and begin to charge towards his father’s shout. Sokka spots him then, as the cries die down, brandishing a sword high above his head so that it gleams in the sun. He can’t see his face, but Sokka knows for sure that it’s his dad. Only his dad was brave enough to lead his men into danger.

The warriors are climbing over their thick, ice walls—walls that have forever remained impenetrable in Sokka’s mind—and leaping from them into whatever threat lay beyond their protection.

His fear is pushed to the back of his mind as he watches them pass. In its place is awe. Abruptly he is reminded of all the cool battle stories the men swap over a fire, the ones that promise danger and require courage and skill. Sokka is reminded so strongly of that desire that fills him when he listens to their stories—the feeling of wanting to tell his own. He wants the men’s praise of how smart and brave he was more than anything. He wants to be like those men. He wants to _be_ those men.

So, he follows them. He runs with the last of them as they run towards the wall and take a running jump. Their hands find the grip holes in the wall with practiced ease and they scramble up and over without a backwards glance. Sokka is slower. He’d never been allowed in the practice drills. Dad had said he was too young. But it wasn’t that hard, and the grips weren’t so far apart that he couldn’t reach them. He pulls himself up its slippery cold side. It makes his arms burn when he nears the top, but the view is so worth it.

 

On the other side, there is chaos.

 

Even he can see they’re greatly outnumbered. The men in black and red armour look like the bad spirits his gran gran had warned him about. The men (they must be men, spirits weren’t real) spit fire from their hands and feet.  They all move about in sync; their fighting styles all the same. Their helmets hide their face, making them look more monstrous. Sokka had never seen anything like these men in his entire life.

But the men of his tribe, though outnumbered and nowhere near as terrifying as these unknown black armoured men, are fierce. As he watches them fight, a smile begins to creep its way on his face. They’re _winning._ He knows that much. They’re actually driving these fire men back!

Like the crack of a whip, he suddenly knows exactly who these men are, and where they’re from. His dad had never hidden from him who their enemy was. He’d just never been able to properly picture what the fire nation looked like before.

“Sokka, get your ass down from there and go straight home to your mother!”

He jumps and swivels his head to his right and spots his dad’s thunderous face glaring up at him. Sokka’s breath catches when he sees a fire nation warrior come up behind his dad.

“DAD!” He screams and points, but he didn’t need to. His dad has already spun to meet his assailant with a _clash_ of his sword.

“Go now, Sokka!” his father roars as he drives the enemy warrior back. Though his father doesn’t see it, he nods and turns toward the village.

He slides down the wall and lands shakily; he falls forward on his hands and knees. His fear is back now. For just a second there…he could have lost his dad. His dad was so focused on him that he could have died right then and there, and Sokka wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.

 _He’s too strong,_ he tries to calm himself, _dad’s too strong to be taken down by some stupid fire nation warrior._ It helps, but not much.

“What do we have here, hmm?”

Sokka looks up. There’s a fire nation warrior standing in front of him smiling in a way that Sokka imagines a polar bear-dog would smile if it found a weak penguin. _Predatory_ his mind suggests to him.

How did he get past the walls?

“A pup like you shouldn’t be left alone while there’s a fight going on, don’t you think?” The man is still smiling, and all Sokka can do is stare up at him blankly.

There’s a part of him screaming at him to _run, run! Get as far away from this man as possible—go find mum!_ But his body just isn’t responding. His eyes just drink in the details of the man’s black armour, which he notes is darker than the sooted snow. The crimson red that outlines it is brighter than any other colour Sokka had ever seen, so vivid and brightly contrasted against the dark black.

The man sighs like he’s reached a difficult decision, like how Sokka’s dad does when he’s planned a hunt that might take a turn for the worst. “It’d be pretty shitty of me to leave you here when you could get hurt, so I guess I’ll take you along.”

The words don’t even have a chance to register in his mind before the man his hoisting him up by the scruff of his parker. Its then that his body decides to listen to his brain and he twists in the man’s grip. He aims to slide himself out of his parker and make a break for it then, but the man is smarter than Sokka give him credit for.

“Ah ah ah, none of that, pup,” the man sneers and lifts him up higher. An arm slides across his torso, holding him firmly to his captor’s armoured side. Sokka kicks and punches and screams, but no-one around him seems to notice what is happening to him. They’re all too panicked to actually _focus._

“MUM!” he shouts, looking around wildly for her familiar face. When he doesn’t see it amongst the frantic people around him, he sucks in another breath and _screams,_ “DAAAAAD!!!”

But his dad is nowhere to be seen.

His fear has risen to an all-consuming nausea now. His pants are soaking with hot urine, but he can’t bring himself to care. The man doesn’t seem to have even noticed it. There is fat, warm tears sliding down his face and snot dripping from his nose. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. That’s not important because right now he’s being taken _and nobody has noticed.  _It’s not just him screaming now. The sounds of women and children crying and screaming echo off the ice walls like a pack of beaver-wolf’s howls.

The fire nation man doesn’t even scale up the wall. He walks confidently past the burning huts— _how? When did they catch fire?—_ and through the heavy ice doors that lead back outside. Sokka stops squirming when he sees how the fire nation man was able to get in.

At all times, there had to be guards at the doors. No matter the circumstance, Sokka’s dad had assured him that there would always be men at the door to stop people who wanted to hurt him and his little sister from getting into the village. Sokka can’t even tell who the men that once stood there were; their faces and bodies were burnt beyond his recognition.

He can’t breathe. His breath is stuck in his lungs and he’s choking— _dying._ A high pitched keen bubbles its way out of his throat and he’s so sure he’s going to die right then and there. There are black spots clouding his vision, and he can no longer hear his dad’s men fighting around him. All he can hear is the snow crunching underneath the man’s boots.

He knows when they’re at the fire nation ship, because the sound changes from the dull crunch of snow to a metallic _ptung, ptung._ The black spots are dancing now across his vision—he can’t see a thing.

 

He does, however, hear his father’s terrified voice calling his name before the world goes dark.

 

***

 

The room he wakes up in is decorated in variating shades of that same crimson red that had framed his captors armour. The ceiling, the floors and even the walls are a dull russet red, like the ochre powder his dad sometimes used. He imagines that the walls are made of ochre and that if he scratches hard enough he can get through them.

The bed, at least he thinks that’s what it is, is softer than any bed he’d ever lay in before. He sits up in it, staring around his red room. He’s shaking so hard that it seems his bones might shatter from the force of each racking shake. But he isn’t cold. In fact, the room is quite warm. He wants to cry, and his throat feels as though it’s closed, but he doesn’t shed a single tear.

Someone has changed his clothes too. He remembers that he had wet himself as he was being taken, but now he wears a pair of inky black pants that are definitely not his. They didn’t even seem to be made of a hide either. No matter how long he picks at them, he can't tell what they are made of. His shirt too, is made of the same material and coloured like the walls. There is no blue here—no grey or white. There isn't even a window for him to see the sky.

There is a knock at the door, the door that is coloured the same as everything else in that room, then—

“Good, you’re awake. It’s time for food.”

It’s not the same man that had taken him. Or it could be, he’s not sure, because this man isn’t wearing a helmet. He’s taken it off and holds it in the crook of his arm. In his hands are a tray.

“I want my dad,” Sokka says. His voice rasps from sleep, and he remembers that he’s thirsty.

The man gives him what Sokka guesses is supposed to be a reassuring smile, “I know, but worrying about him won’t help you. You should eat some food and get some more rest.”

The smile doesn’t reach the man’s eyes. Eyes, which Sokka sees, are another colour he doesn’t see very often in the village. They’re the other colour ochre could be— _yellow_ , the colour his mum told him the sun is. One of the colours in a burning fire. He didn’t even know people could have yellow eyes. The people of the tribe either have blue, like the sky, or deep brown like the trunks of the trees. Never had Sokka seen yellow eyes.

Sokka meets them squarely, “I want my dad,” he repeats.

The man closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head. “You can’t see him,” he says, “we’re very far away from him right now.”

Sokka’s bottom lip trembles, and the man looks away. He busies himself by setting the tray onto the room’s table, which is pushed against the wall opposite Sokka’s bed. Sokka watches the man wearily, as though any second now the man might spring upon him. His dad had always taught him to never look away from your enemies. His eyes flicker to the cup that was brought in with the tray. He hopes it's water.

The man turns back to him, another smile already on his face. “It’s going to take us another four days to reach the capitol, so maybe you and I could get to know each other a little better. What do you say?”

Sokka doesn’t answer. He keeps staring into those yellow eyes, wondering why this person is bothering to be nice. His dad tells him all the time about how cruel the fire nation is and all the people in it are awful. This man though doesn’t seem so monstrous without a helmet on.

“My name is Kohaku. Do you have a name?”

Of course he has a name! Everyone has a name! Did this man think he was dumb?

“Sokka,” he spits, “my name is Sokka and I’m from the Southern Water tribe.”

The man—Kohaku—nods, “good, that’s good. And how old are you, Sokka of the water tribe?”

“I’m ten” Sokka mumbles and crosses his arms in front of him. He feels as though Kohaku is mocking him.

“Wow, practically already a man, aren’t we?”

Sokka answers with a single nod. He was a man, and soon he’d be a great warrior just like his dad.

Kohaku stifles a laugh. “Did you sleep okay?”

He’s all too suddenly reminded of why he was here, or rather, what brought him here. He fixes Kohaku with what he hopes is his fiercest glare, the kind his mum gives him when she catches him playing with his dad’s weapons.

“Why did you take me?”

Kohaku blinks, “take you?”

“Yes, why did you grab me and take me away from my dad?” Sokka hears his voice rise as anger threatens to flood him, “why me?”

He can tell Kohaku is nervous from the way the man’s eyes slide away from him to focus on the floor beneath their feet. He shifts slightly from where he stands, and Sokka revels in it. _Good,_ he thinks, _let him feel guilty for taking me._

“It…It wasn’t me that took you, Sokka.”

“Then who took me? Someone did, and I’m going to make them _pay.”_

He kicks off the covers of his bed and makes to get up, but Kohaku is already there in front of him and pushing him back down.

“I don’t know who exactly, I’m sorry.” Kohaku says. Sokka stares at his face and watches as it crumples like soggy, wet paper. “I’m so, so sorry, Sokka.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Kohaku wets his lips and stares back into Sokka’s own eyes. He seems to think for a moment before telling him, “I’m sorry, because I know how awful it’s going to be for you from here on out. I’ve got a kid about your age, Sokka, and I’d just hate for him to be taken from me. Like you were taken from your father.”

Tears are now burning in Sokka’s eyes. Questions threaten to spill from his lips, but his throat has closed over again and he can’t seem to choke them out.  He remembers his father’s frantic, terrified calling before he passed out and the tears gush over and slide down his cheeks to fall into his lap.

“I want my dad,” he whispers and dissolves into bone wracking sobs.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry.” Kohaku pulls him into a tight hug. Sokka considers that he doesn’t hate Kohaku _too_ much now. Just a little. Maybe Kohaku is different from the monsters that stormed his village.

After all, someone who was his enemy wouldn’t cry for him, would they?

When Kohaku pulls away, Sokka’s tears have started to dry. Kohaku stands and brings over the tray and settles it on Sokka’s lap. Sokka stares at it blankly. He knows it’s food—he can _smell_ that it’s food—but he doesn’t recognise this as anything he’s ever eaten before. It’s a brownish-yellow colour, the first thing the fire nation has given him that isn’t in shades of red or black, and unidentifiable chunks are coated in the yellow stuff. Beside it is fluffy looking white stuff.

He’s tired suddenly. Everything here is different and unfamiliar, and not even the food is something he recognises. It’s scary, yet tugs at his curiosity. These people are so very different from the people he is familiar with. Their skin isn’t even the same colour. Kohaku’s skin looks like fish flesh. Kohaku notices his hesitation.

“Something wrong?”

Sokka shrugs, “I don’t know what kind of food this is.”

Kohaku looks confused, “don’t they have curry in the south?”

“Curry? I don’t think so.”

“Uh…well, curry is made up with vegetables and meat, mostly—I think? Yours is anyway, and you’ve got rice to go with it. I don’t know a lot about food, actually. I just eat whatever the cooks put in front of me,” Kohaku says and scratches the back of his head nervously.

Eat whatever the cooks put in front of him? Sokka can’t imagine doing that. At home, he and Katara help their mum cook all the time. He skins and bones fish while Katara gets the fire going. Their mum watches them while cutting up tubers. The idea of letting someone else cook without contributing seems…odd? Not knowing what you’re eating is such a foreign concept to him.

The thought of his little sister has him straightening and newfound fear coursing through him, making his heart pound so loudly in his ears he can hear it.

“Wait, did…” he swallows, scared of what his answer might be, “did they bring anyone else with them? A little girl?”

Kohaku shakes his head sadly. He must have thought Sokka wanted someone familiar to be with him, because his eyes are downcast as he says, “No, you’re the only one we took.”

The relieve he feels envelopes him like a warm bath. Katara was safe. Mum and dad were safe. Though it was awful that he was on his own, it was so much better than putting his loved ones in any danger.

“I have to go now, but I’ll be back later to check up on you. Make sure you eat as much as you can and then get some rest,” Kohaku says and walks over to the door. He pauses just outside of it and looks back at Sokka, who still hasn’t touched his food.

“I’m going to lock the door, okay? I have to. Those are my orders.”

Sokka nods. He’s not sure what ‘locking’ means, but he understands Kohaku has to. He imagines that Kohaku is like one of his dad’s men, following orders even when they don’t like to. Like Cupun, who hates when Sokka’s dad has the men out on a week-long hunt but does it anyway—because it’s chief’s orders. Kohaku must have a chief.

The door clicks behind Kohaku, and Sokka is alone with his strange smelling food and red room.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. It Hurts, So I'll Fight You

Kohaku visits him three times every day.

 He comes with food each time, and it’s always something new Sokka hasn’t seen or tried before. Kohaku stays with him while he eats and tells stories of his son, Katsu.

“There was this one time where I took Katsu down to the beach and he found this tiny little red crab. He lifted it up to his face, and before I could tell him to put the poor thing down, it pinched him right on the nose!” Kohaku’s grin was infectious, “Katsu couldn’t live it down for a week!”

Sokka enjoys Kohaku’s stories. Often, they were about where Kohaku lived, but sometimes Kohaku spoke of the capitol where they were headed. He told Sokka about the great city he could expect to see, and how it was set inside of a crater. Sokka didn’t know what a crater was, but after Kohaku explained it he _knew_ the people of the fire nation weren’t only awful people who took kids, but were crazy too.

He interrupts Kohaku just as the man is about to launch into another story. “What is the royal family? I don’t understand it; is it your chief’s family?”

Kohaku is used to Sokka’s questions, but he isn’t always sure how to answer them.

“The royal family? I guess they’re kinda like a chief’s family, if your chief and his family is the most important people in the whole nation.” Kohaku is frowning as he speaks.

“So they make all the rules, right?” Sokka presses. Kohaku mentioned that it was the Fire Lord they were going to see, and he was curious about them and wanted to know what to expect. Maybe he could convince the fire nation chief to send him back home, one chief respecting another future chief. “Your chief leads the men into battle?”

“Fire Lord, not chief,” Kohaku corrects, “and not exactly. Yes, the Fire Lord makes all the rules and leads our nation into greatness, but he doesn’t really lead us into battle. His generals do that for him.”

That was just confusing. The Fire Lord made all the rules, like a chief, but did not lead his men into battle? If he had someone else doing that for him, didn’t that make them the chief and not him? Why would people follow someone who didn’t lead them?

Kohaku can see his confusion, “The Fire Lord is the person who has us fight for the prosperity of our nation.”

That doesn’t help at all. He lets it go, though so that he can fire off another question, “So this _royal family_ or whatever, do they have kids?”

“Well, Prince Lu Ten doesn’t really count as a kid I suppose,” Kohaku says while screwing his face up with concentration, “but I think prince Zuko and princess Azula are about your age.”

“I don’t know what Prince or Princess means.” Sokka tells him honestly.

“Uh… I guess it’s kind of like the chief’s son or daughter? You know, next in line for leadership?”

Sokka brightens and sits up straight on the bed, “Like me! I’m the son of the chief, so I’d be a prince wouldn’t I, Kohaku?” he says cheerfully with a grin.

But Kohaku has frozen in place in the chair he had pulled up beside Sokka’s bed. Sokka doesn’t miss the way the man’s skin pales and how Kohaku stares wide-eyed at him, as though seeing Sokka for the first time.

“Sokka,” he begins slowly after a full minute, “are you telling me you’re the son of Hakoda? Hakoda of the water tribe?”

Sokka’s grin starts to slip. Kohaku is nervous—scared even—he can tell. It makes him nervous. How did Kohaku know his father’s name anyway? Sokka had never told him it before.

“Yeah, he’s my dad. He’s the chief and best warrior our tribe has.” He can’t help the note of pride that slips into his voice.

Kohoku only watches him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. Sokka knows from Kohaku’s silence that this was the wrong thing to tell him.  He doesn’t know _why_ exactly this was a bad thing, but he’s certain it is. He deliberately doesn’t meet Kohaku’s eyes. Instead, he plucks at his new pants again.

“You can’t tell anyone else this,” Kohaku finally says. He reaches forward and takes hold of Sokka’s hands in his. He squeezes them, hard, and Sokka looks up. His face is now so close to Sokka’s he can smell the soup they’d had for lunch on his breath. “Listen to me carefully, Sokka. You _cannot_ tell anyone else who your father is. Do you understand?”

“Why?” he asks, and hates how small his voice sounds to his own ears.

Kohaku speaks softly, so softly Sokka has to strain to hear, “They’ll hurt you. They’ll put you up for ransom and make an exchange for your father.” He doesn’t seem to be talking to Sokka when he starts to trail off, “…they’ll definitely do it. They will. They will.”

He pulls away. Kohaku lets him go easily enough. The man sits beside his bed, maybe not even realising he isn’t holding Sokka anymore, mumbling to himself over and over again. The room is suddenly too small for Sokka. He wants out. He’s tired of the fire nation, Kohaku, the food, the colour red—he’s _tired._

“Kohaku, what’s going to happen to me?”

He knows the man can hear him, but is choosing to ignore his question. It scares him more than whatever else Kohaku could have answered him with.

 

***

 

He feels it in his feet when they dock. The ship had always been humming whilst he was on it, and the waves would always be crashing up against its side whenever the wind blew a little too hard. Now it groans and creeks as the crew rushes about above his head to prepare for arrival.

He’s always bored when Kohaku isn’t there to entertain him. Which had been more often now after he’d found out who Sokka’s dad was. He couldn’t deny how annoyed he felt about being left by himself in a room with nothing to do but stare at the rust-red ceiling. So the prospect of getting off the ship was pretty exciting, even if he was a little nervous about his uncertain future. It did lift his spirits when he thought of meeting the royal family. Surely, they’d realise there had been some mistake and he wasn’t meant to have been taken and he’d be sent back home to his family.

Already he missed them. It had only been a week, but he desperately wanted to see his mother’s warm face, hear his father’s booming laugh and cuddle his tiny sister in his too small arms. It filled him with an ache whenever he thought of them.

 _Soon though, soon I’ll be back and everything will be fine,_ He told himself just before the door to his room creaked open.

Of course it’s Kohaku—nobody else comes to see him.

“Are you ready to go? They have a carriage waiting for us on the dock.”

Sokka nods. It isn’t like he has anything of importance with him. Still, he’d like to have his boomerang with him. He’d forgotten it when the fighting had started, too distracted with wanting to see what had been going on. He still remembered the day his dad had made it, showing Sokka how to sharpen its edges to a delicate, razor sharp finish. To this day, it remained Sokka’s favourite gift from his dad. He wishes he’d had the idea to bring it with him when he’d climbed over the wall.

“Alright. We’re going straight to the palace, so make sure you’re on your best behaviour.” Kohaku sounds colder now. Sokka can’t put his finger down on what’s wrong, but Kohaku looks uneasy. Sokka knows that when adults are like this, it’s best not to talk much.

Despite his hatred for it, he gives the red room one final fleeting glace before he walks out the door. He won’t miss it, that’s for sure. But he knows he won’t forget it either. It’s colour will forever be impressed in his mind and most likely be the cause for many nightmares to come. His heart sinks.

Kohaku puts a hand between his shoulders and steers him through the metal maze of the ship. When they step out onto the deck, Sokka has to squint from the brightness of the sun. Days hidden away in the confines of his sun deprived room has left him slightly sensitive to the natural light. Its relentless heat surprises him. He hadn’t felt warmth outside of an open fire before. In his world, warmth only came from three primary sources; fire, clothing and body heat. This natural heat that didn’t require any sustenance or work from him would definitely take some getting used to.

He and Kohaku continue to not say anything to one another as they step off the boat and walk the length of the docks—they even remain silent as they clamber towards the oddest looking… _thing_ Sokka has ever seen in his entire life. It’s a room, but it’s on wheels and pulled by two-legged, feathered creatures with long, sharp, yellow beaks. They paw and stamp at the stone paved road whilst making low noises to one another.

All around Sokka there are numerous people. More people than Sokka had ever seen all at once. They pay no attention to him sitting inside of a carriage, but he watches them with the utmost rapid fascination. On the docks a fisherman and his men hall a giant net of brightly coloured fish onto the salt encrusted wood of the pier. Sokka can smell the brine the fish bring with them; his eyes start to flicker from one dead fish to the next, drinking in the different colours he didn’t even have names for yet.

A shout pulls his attention over to some kids sprinting past. They can’t be much younger than he is. The small group all have dark hair and pale skin, and their voices are rich and high in only that way small kids are able to possess. He notes the way their eyes gloss over the carriage and its strange beasts. This had to be normal for them. As normal for them as this was abnormal for him.

“Hurry up and get in.” Kohaku’s voice interrupts his people-watching.

He slides into his leather seat, sitting close to the window. He wants to drink in as much scenery as he can.

Kohaku sits opposite him, and the carriage takes off. Sokka sticks his head out the window to watch the two-legged creatures pull the carriage along the road. He can’t help the fascination that creeps up on him watching this strange world function all around him.

His eyes dart from one thing to the next. People walking along the road that breaks off into multiple different roads. The buildings. The animals that stray between it all. And of course, that every annoyingly present crimson red can be seen fluttering in the wind on flags, clothes and even building signs. It should ruin the scenery for him, but he finds it oddly fitting for this place—these people. Red is their colour, just as blue was his peoples.

A thought suddenly struck him. “Kohaku, where is all the snow?” He asks after pulling his head back inside.

Kohaku’s bark of laughter surprises him. Only because Kohaku hadn’t seemed all that happy in the last few days. He’d been expecting Kohaku to ignore him.

“We’ve set foot on land for a solid ten minutes now and you’re only just realising there’s no snow?”

Not really, he had noticed _something_ was missing about the landscape, but hadn’t been able to put his finger on it until he started actively searching for something familiar about the scenery.

“Everything is so…” he struggles for the right word, “brown?”

He hopes Kohaku doesn’t notice how his answer seems more like a question than a statement.

Kohaku shrugs, “I suppose it is. I’ve never given this place a long, hard look.”

Sokka frowns, puzzled. “But this is your homeland. How could you have never noticed?”

Kohaku falters, equally confused. Then his voice is gruff when he says, “I’m never here long enough to pay attention to how things look. There’s always something important I need to be doing, and sightseeing isn’t exactly what I’d call important.” Sokka doesn’t miss how right after saying that, Kohaku’s eyes flit to the open window.

“It’s different here.” Sokka tells him after a pause, eyes downcast onto the leather seat to watch his fingers trace over the minuscule lines he finds there.

“Different, but not bad.” Kohaku grunts. Sokka doesn’t want to annoy him by disagreeing, so he stays quiet.

The carriage remains silent after that. Whether it’s because Sokka can’t find anything else to talk about or because Kohaku wants it to be that way, he can’t tell. He occupies himself by watching the (what he assumes is a village) pass by as the carriage sways and crawls towards the base of the mountain.

The south, contrary to what some people might believe, does have plant life. Tall pine trees were the favourite hiding spots of the tribe’s children, as well has home to their most deadly wildlife. The forest often provided them all with their daily essentials. Wood. Animals. Medicine. It was part of their lifestyle. Even he and Katara had often made a game of who could climb a tree the highest, which often resulted in some of his father’s hunters coming to find them both stuck halfway up a tree.

The fire nation, however, has none.

It’s more shocking than the lack of snow. That, he can understand. It’s hot here, so of course there’d be no snow. But no plants? No trees? Just rock, rock and more rock. How did these people even survive? It’s the rocks on the road that makes the carriage jolt every so often. Surely it’d be better if there was some more green in this hot place?

The rest of the journey is uneventful until they reach the mountain. They’re stopped at a gate, and a man opens the carriage door.

“Please state your name and business within Caldera City.”

Sokka watches as Kohaku reaches into a pocket hidden underneath his armour and pulls out some papers. The man takes them and flicks through them for a moment.

The guard—Sokka guesses—meets Kohaku’s eyes with a raised eyebrow. “An audience with the fire lord?”

Kohaku pointedly looks at Sokka and then back to the man before nodding solemnly.

“Right, that’s fine. Did you need an escort?”

“No, I know the way. I used to try and see past the gates of the palace when I was a kid. I can handle it from here.”

The man salutes and leaves, shutting the carriage door behind him. Sokka bites his lips and wonders, what did Kohaku’s look mean? There was something they didn’t say—he was sure of it. He just couldn’t figure out what.

Kohaku shuts the thick, red curtains closed over the window just as the carriage starts to move again. At Sokka’s disappointed face, he says “we’re heading into the main city now, where all the rich nobles live. It’ll start gossip if they see a water-tribe boy on his way to the palace, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t ease his disappointment. If anything, it makes him more curious. Rich? Nobles? He can’t even begin to try and understand what that means. He’s so full of questions, it’s like he’ll burst.

“We still have a long way to go,” Kohaku is reaching into his pocket again. He pulls out what looks like a thick stack of paper sandwiched between two hard, yellow covers. He passes it over to Sokka, who takes it gently in both hands, “maybe read this to pass the time.”

Sokka scan’s the cover. _The Rise of The Fire Nation._ There is no author.

He can feel Kohaku’s weighted gaze on the top of his head. “You can read, yes?”

Sokka nods, struggling to control his irritation at the comment. The south may not have many books, but Sokka’s dad had collected very few over the years and taught him to read and write—as he had with Katara and a few others. They had to be _very_ careful with the pages lest they tore or smudge. They were mostly books about stories from far away places—fairy tales his mother had called them as she read to him over his shoulder. She’d called them ‘The south’s priceless tressures!’ He hadn’t been entirely sure what she had meant.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. The memory of his mother always sparks his manners.

Kohaku nods and peeks between the curtains whilst Sokka flips through his new book.

 

***

 

They arrive twenty minutes later, and the carriage door swings open to reveal—what he assumes is—the palace.

He can’t stop his mouth from dropping at the sheer size of it. It looms tall above him, with all the intimidation a mountain gave off. It towers so high above everything, Sokka wonders if he were to stand on the very top of it, would he be able to touch the sky?

Like everything else in the fire nation, it’s red. But not just red. There’s another colour spiralling and twisting amongst the prominent primary colour of this land’s nation. It’s almost yellow, but shines brighter whilst simultaneously looking deeper and richer than the sun. It’s the colour the sun turns just before it dips behind the waves in the south. Try as he might, Sokka can’t find the name for it.

Kohaku is speaking to someone—a woman—but he can’t focus on it. He is well and truly stunned by the sight of the tower, like a fish that has been jerked up out of the water and hit with a heavy club. He’s speechless.

He only snaps out of it when firm hands place themselves on his shoulders and start steering him towards the palace doors. He looks up, expecting Kohaku, only to find a dark-haired woman with pursed, red lips holding her head high towards the palace.

He stops, planting his feet firmly on the stone ground and cranes his head around her body to look for Kohaku. He spots the man just as he is climbing back inside the carriage.

“Kohaku?” He calls and squirms in the woman’s grip. His voice gets higher as he feels the tendrils of panic creeping up on him, “Kohaku?”

He sees Kohaku hesitate on the steps of the carriage and uses that opportunity to yell, “Where are you going?!”

The woman’s nails, long and coloured pitch black like her hair, squeeze his shoulder painfully. They’ll probably leave marks, but he couldn’t care less. Kohaku hasn’t even turned around. She whispers angrily into his ear, so close he can feel her hot breath, “be silent and keep walking.”

His stomach plummets. Kohaku is leaving him. He knows this with absolute certainty.  Kohaku is leaving him here, all alone in this palace with this awful woman and her biting nails. After everything they’d talked about, he was being left behind. Had he done something to earn this? Or was this the plan all along, and Sokka had been tricked into believing he might actually have a chance to go home?

The woman snatches up one of his wrists and starts pulling him forcefully indoors. Even with this harsh realisation of betrayal—even as hot tears dribble down his cheeks—Sokka keeps his head turned towards the carriage; eyes fixed on the doors as the driver spurs the creatures forward. He feels the hands of more people tugging him inside, but still he watches his only chance at returning home be driven away.

“Someone pick him up, he’s going to bother the whole palace if he keeps that noise up!”

He realises his sobs have become frenzied, loud and panicked but can’t do anything to stop them. The woman has finally pulled him inside and the giant doors are being shut on the outside world. His fear, confusion and overwhelming desperation clouds all reason. Someone is trying to shush him, but he can’t even make out anyone’s _faces_. They’re all blurred.

It’s when he is hoisted into the air that his sobs become screams—screams that echo and bounce of the walls. A man, no—soldier _(like the one that took you,_ his mind whispers frantically) has hauled him up by the waist and is carrying him off.

“Shut him up!” A woman’s harsh voice commands. Sokka redoubles his efforts to struggle out of the man’s grip, only for a hard, steel armoured fist to rise up over his head and smash down onto it.

He feels extreme pain. His world tilts and swirls. His head is lolling, he knows it. The pain makes it too hard to correct it. His eyes pan over the room and land on two twin heads of black hair hiding behind a pillar. Their matching golden eyes watch him-- one with concern, the other with unmistakable satisfaction.

And then—

Nothing, as he falls into the unconscious world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate everyone's feedback-- it gave me the confidence to write more. Tbh I wasn't expecting the number of responses I received, mostly because I assumed this fandom was probably dead. That being said, if you're liking this please, please, please leave a comment. Feedback lets me know that I'm doing something right and that people want more of this. Without it, I feel too self- conscious to write. I have a lot planned out ! 
> 
> Pray for me that I'll be able to write a whole lot more shit next time. Any mistakes feel free to point out! I didn't edit this lmao.


	3. You Suck Anyway

There’s a boy screaming in the palace foyer.

 

Not the tantrum throwing scream Azula often pitches when she doesn’t get her own way. He has nothing to compare it to. He’s never heard this kind of terrified, high pitched screaming before. It echoes throughout the foyer and drowns out every other sound.

Zuko doesn’t even know the boy, but the sympathy he feels radiates from him. He doesn’t know why the boy is crying or screaming, or even why he was here in Zuko’s grandfather’s house, but he is very sorry for him. When the boy’s blue eyes land on his and Azula’s hiding spot, Zuko wonders if he sees them. He doesn’t get an answer—their guest has fallen asleep.

“What a baby,” Azula whispers to him. He glances to her and sees her fierce smile. Her eyes spark with mirth. Of course she’s enjoying this.

“They didn’t have to hit him,” he whispers back and they both shrink into the shadows as the group of handmaids pass by their hiding spot behind a pillar, “if they’d told him to shut up, he might have.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything. Grandfather would kill him if he heard that kind of racket.” She pauses and tilts her head to the side, considering. “He still might.”

Zuko shakes his head, but doesn’t answer her. She’s right. Their grandfather wouldn’t hesitate to kill a common boy over the amount of noise he was making. He hoped, for that boy’s sake, that the shouts hadn’t been that loud.

“Come on, let’s go.” Azula says and snatches his arm in her grip. Together they dart out from behind the pillar and race each other to the second wing and up a flight of stairs. She let’s go of him somewhere in the midst of it, and runs ahead. He falls a little behind, but not much. Their footsteps are muffled by the carpeted floors; their breaths the only sound of their passing.

She tugs him into her bedroom. She goes over to the pitcher of water on her dresser, whilst Zuko opts to flop bonelessly on his back over her bed. He grins at her wrinkled nose of distaste, knowing full well she hates anyone else on her bed. He hopes his sweat stains her silk covers.

“Did you see him?” she asks, clearly excited. Her voice barely contains how truly interested she is.

“Yeah, of course. He was pretty hard to miss.” Zuko rolls his eyes. He fingers the tassels on one of Azula’s many pillows and tugs on one, pulling it off. He can feel the heat of her glare on him, but purposely doesn’t look. He rolls on his stomach to pretend he can’t feel it.

She takes a sip of her water, still glaring at him, and says “No, idiot, I mean did you _see_ him?”

Zuko frowns and tosses the pillow away from him. It lands off the bed and onto the floor. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, you’re hopeless. I mean, did you notice _how_ he looked?”

He thought back to what he had seen. He hadn’t really been focused on what the boy looked like; he was more focused on why the boy was screaming bloody murder in the palace. But thinking back, he realised that the boy had looked incredibly different from not only himself, but other boy’s he’d seen before. “He had blue eyes, and dark skin.” He says, hearing the confusion in his own voice.

Azula nods and says with a note of arrogance, “He was definitely from the water tribe. Only they look like that.”

“The…water tribe?”

“Come on, even you’re not that dumb. The tribe of people that live in the north, in the cold, icy place and can bend water.”

He grits his teeth and glares at her from the bed, “I know who they are.”

“Are you sure? I can ask mother for extra geography lessons for you, if you like.” Her smirk is smug. She takes another sip of water and watches him through golden eyes as she leans against her dresser.

He ignores her and turns his thoughts inward. A person from the water tribe? What on earth could anyone—let alone his grandfather—want with a kid from the water tribe? Though he wouldn’t admit it to Azula, but he didn’t know an awful lot about the water tribe. The Earth Kingdom made up the bulk of their resistance and contributed the most to the war. They were the greatest enemy to the fire-nation, not the water tribe. That was why his uncle had been sent away to Ba Sing Se, to conquer the city and bring the Earth Kingdom to heel.  The water tribe had the nuisance of a fly when compared to the Earth Kingdom’s military might.

“What do they want with him?” He asks Azula, hoping that she’d heard something from their parents or grandfather about the water tribe.

She shrugs, “beats me. Probably to torture him for information about his tribe or something equally similar.”

His stomach rolls at the thought. It isn’t that he cares for the water tribe boy—far from it—but he doesn’t envy him at all. Whilst he’d never been there to see the torturing go on, per say, he had heard the stories.

“I bet he’s the son of one of their warriors or something stupid like that and knows all kinds of stuff about their fighting style. It could help us bring an end to them all.”

“You really think so?”

Azula scowls at him, as though annoyed that he’d doubt her. “Why else bring the fire nation a kid?”

He isn’t sure, so he says nothing. Azula looks satisfied with this and sets down her glass before stretching her arms high above her head.

“Besides, even if he does know something he’ll end up dead anyway.”

She picks up the fine, white, delicate looking hand mirror their grandfather had gifted her with for her last birthday and gives her reflection a sweet smile. She looks away from it and meets Zuko’s eyes, then promptly lets it fall from her hand. His eyes follow it as it shatters, almost entirely, and glass shards scatter everywhere across the bedroom floor.

“Oops. Guess he should have gotten me something a little studier. Don’t you think?”

She steps over the shards, letting them crunch under the soles of her burgundy shoes. He winces at the grating sound it makes, and she grins in return. He watches as Azula then plops herself down beside him on her back and stares up at top of her four-poster bed canopy.

“I wish,” her voice is the softest Zuko has ever heard it, “I wish I’d been born a boy like you. I’d get better presents if I were. They’d treat me with more respect.”

He rolls his eyes. He’s heard this line a dozen times from his sister. “It’s not like you can change it.”

“You’re right,” her mouth pulls down as she speaks, “there’s nothing.”

He studies her for a long moment. “You could tell them you want different gifts,” He says finally, “they’ll probably listen if you keep pestering them about it.”

“That isn’t the point. It’s not about the presents.”

“Then what is it about?”

Her eyes flicker to his face and stay there. She grimaces, and says “you wouldn’t understand.”

Zuko sighs. That’s Azula; always misunderstood and hard done by, as though she wasn’t easily their father’s favourite child. She knew it too, and often said it just to aggravate him.

“Whatever, I’m going to write a letter to Uncle. Did you want me to add anything from you to it?”

Her attention is back on the canopy again, and she blows a piece of hair out of her eyes, “yeah, tell him he can’t come back here alive until he’s taken Ba Sing Se from that dumb Earth kingdom.”

Zuko gives her a stern frown before leaving. He isn’t sure if she’s entirely kidding.

 

***

 

“Fire Lord Azulon has requested yours and your sister’s presence later this afternoon, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko looks up from where he sits under the shade of his favourite tree and shuts his book closed. A serving girl in a currant red tunic has her head bowed before him. He looks over the top of her head and decides she’s one of his mother’s servants.

“Will mother and father be there?” He asks as he stands, tucking the book securely underneath his arm. It was about fire-bending basics—a gift from his uncle.

“I believe so, Prince Zuko.”

“Is this about the water tribe boy?”

She becomes noticeably uncomfortable by his question. Her fingers fidget against her legs, and he spots her tongue lick her lips quickly before its gone again. Her feet shuffle in the grass.  The moment seems to drag awkwardly, interrupted by the soft quacks of the turtle ducks in the pond. It strikes him then that she’s a bit young for this job. She can’t be more than a few years older than him.

A yes then, he decides when she continues not to answer. Something involving the family has happened with the water tribe boy. It’s the only reason he can think of as to why his grandfather would demand they see him. He and his sister weren’t due for their monthly appraisal, so it had to be something else. The water tribe boy was the only plausible explanation, though granted, it could be something else.

He sighs—something he’d picked up from his mother’s arguments with Azula—and tilts his head back so that he’s looking at the sky. It’s a bright day, almost uncomfortably hot. Definitely not the sweltering, sticky heat of his grandfather’s throne room, where the carefully controlled flames creep along the walls like heavy curtains, but enough to remind him of it. His back is already dripping sweat underneath his cotton shirt and beading along his forehead. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if he instantly vaporised the second he took one foot in the throne room.

“Okay, I’ll go change first. Tell mum I’m coming.” He tells her before brushing past without a second glance. If he hurries, he might be able to wash himself off with a wet cloth before going.

She turns around and calls, “Prince Zuko, your mother made it clear that she wants to see you before the meeting! You should go to her quickly, sir.”

He looks over his shoulder at her, “tell her I’m coming,” he repeats with annoyance fringing his words.

She looks cowed, but doesn’t press. Satisfied, he continues his way to his bedroom where the promise of washing all the sweat away with a cool towel seems way better than immediately going to his mother. Besides, she probably just wanted to clean him up before meeting the summons anyway. She does it every other time.

Half an hour later, cleaned and dressed in fresh, thin clothes, Zuko knocks on his parent’s chamber doors. The guard beside it pays him no mind, so Zuko does the same. It’s normal for the palace guards to either ignore him entirely, or try to get him to put a good word in with his father (and ultimately, of course, his grandfather). In turn, Zuko has resolved to pretend they’re part of the many decorations that line the inner palace’s walls.

The door starts to open, and the beginnings of a smile start to work its way across his face, only to fall flat when he sees that it isn’t his mother answering the door, but his father.

Immediately he lowers his eyes to the floor and gives his father a blockish bow, “good afternoon, sir.”

He can feel eyes burning into the back of his very exposed neck. “You’re late,” his father says shortly. Zuko pretends he doesn’t notice the steely edge in the words.

“Is that Zuko? Send him in, please.”

His insides rush with relief upon hearing his mother’s gentle voice. He straightens up and nods to his father as the man moves aside to let him in. The whole time, he is careful not to meet his eyes.

He finds his mother standing behind his sister, who is reluctantly sitting in a chair in front of their mother’s vanity mirror and squirming with each stroke of the brush. Through the mirror, Azula sees him and scowls. He doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know what she’s thinking. She hates being born a girl.

“Honey, you’re late.” His mother’s voice breaks through their tension, “Didn’t Kiyoko tell you to come straight to me?”

His eyes flicker to the reflection of hers. They meet his. She looks… uneasy. There’s a shard of glittering irritation in her honey coloured eyes, and a crease in the lines of her forehead that Zuko doesn’t like. Her voice tells him she knows full well that her servant had told him, and that he’d brushed it aside. He swallows nervously, and wonders wonders if Azula had noticed their mother’s temper, she might not be so bratty.

“She did,” he admits and looks away, “I just wanted to wash up a bit before, that’s all.

When he glances at her again, her eyes have softened ever so slightly. “Good. That’s very smart of you.”

“Always the good boy, aren’t you Zuzu?” Azula sneers at him. “Can’t ever do a single thing wrong.”

His mother tugs her hair non-too gently with the brush, “perhaps you could learn a thing or two from your brother, Azula.”

Azula hisses and tries again to pull away, “ouch, that hurt!”

“Not too much, of course.” Ozai interjects sharply. He stands behind Zuko, watching his family from the doorway. “your fire bending is far superior compared to your brother’s.”

Zuko doesn’t miss his mother’s eyes flash angrily in her reflection, but chooses not to comment on it. The shame he feels makes his blood flush his cheeks and neck.

Azula preens and her reflection grins at their father, “I’m only going to keep getting better.”

Ozai nods. Ursa’s lips purse. Zuko’s eyes dance between his two parents.

“So, what does grandpa want with us _this_ time, father?” Azula continues, and if Zuko didn’t know her as well as he did he’d say she looked oblivious to their parent’s mood, “surely he doesn’t want to measure our skills _again?”_

“No, it’s too early for that. I think I’d be right in saying that it probably has to do with the water tribe boy they had brought into us this morning.” Ozai tells them.

"A water tribe boy?” He doesn’t know how Azula manages to make it sound as though this was her first-time hearing about the boy. Her eyes go wide—almost comical—and her mouth parts gently to complete her illusion, “there’s a water tribe boy, here, in the palace?”

Zuko turns towards his father to better see his reaction. The man has no eyes for his only son—just his daughter. With the air of a man that was already king and not a second born prince to a nation of cruel warfare, Ozai takes a seat in one of the chairs by his bed that are cushioned with flaming red (of course) silk. He only ever looks fond when he is speaking to Azula. Never to Zuko. Never to Ursa.

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t hear him? You’ll have to lie better than that.”

Azula’s face doesn’t change, “I have no idea what you mean, father.”

Ozai smiles blithely and continues as though she’d never said anything, “The fire lord most likely wants to palm off the duties of extracting information from the boy to one of you two. Another sort of test, I suppose.” The corners of his mouth twitch down as his gaze switches to Zuko, who still stands, “Do not disappoint me.”

Zuko swallows and nods, “yes, sir.”

“Done. Zuko, come here. It’s your turn.”

Azula, with her hair neatly braided and curled around her head tightly, springs up from her seat and darts away over to their father, as though worried that if she didn’t move quick enough her mother would snatch her back up for further brushing.

“Whatever he asks of you both, you must do it.” Ozai permits Azula to perch herself on his knee. He never does anything of the sort _for him_ , Zuko thinks to himself bitterly. Catching his eye, Azula smirks as though she knows exactly what he’s thinking. He looks away and steps forward to sit himself in front of his mother.

“Of course, father. If it’s information grandfather wants its information he’ll get.” Azula answers him.

The hate that always simmers and coils his insides whenever he’s forced to watch Azula charm their father, and in turn, witness his father’s blatant favouritism, churns. He’s grateful for his mother’s soothing hands rubbing his shoulders, almost consolingly. She must have a sense of how he’s feeling.

Absently he picks at his cotton shirt and listens to their conversation, desperately trying to allow his mother’s warm presence act as a balm for his anger.

“After all, though his tribe isn’t all that much a threat in the grand scheme of things, there’s a good chance he might know something about his sister tribe in the north. They’re the real threat to our nation’s success, right after the Earth Kingdom.” Ozai says, more so to Azula than to anyone else.

“A boy? What could a boy know. If they were going to take someone for information, wouldn’t an adult be of more help?”

Ursa ducks her head over Zuko’s own, as though ashamed of voicing her thoughts. From the way Zuko spot’s his father glaring at her, he doesn’t blame her.

“…They’re savages, Ursa.” Ozai says at a length. His voice is cool enough to still both Zuko’s and Ursa’s hands, “a full grown one would be harder to contain.”

 

He speaks as though they’re animals.

 

“Yes of course,” Ursa nods and brings the brush through Zuko’s hair. He’s nervous for her. Her fingers gripping the brush are white, but her hand is steady. Her breathing sounds shaky though, betraying her…fear? Anger? He isn’t sure.

His father exhales loudly through his nose and sits back in his chair. Azula winds her small arms around his neck and gently rests her head on his chest. Her attention though, is clearly on Zuko and Ursa. Her smile is smug.

“Besides, he grew up in that village. It’s impossible for him to not know anything, given how much time he’s spent there. He’s old enough to tell us what he knows and for it to have _some_ value.”

“Yes, dear.”

“And if not, we’ll kill him.” Azula says sweetly. Zuko feels sick just hearing it.

Ursa brushes the back of her hand over his left cheek and he leans into it. She must feel it too.

Ozai is grinning like a cat. His fingers lift a stray lock of hair that must have escaped Azula’s fiercely tight bun and he tucks it behind her ear.

“Yes, if that is what your grandfather asks of you, you must do it.”

 

As always, Zuko says nothing.

 

***

 

The room is just as hot as Zuko had predicted it to be. He doesn’t know how anyone—even his seemingly inhuman grandfather—can stand it. He and his family have been seated in front of the throne for only five minutes, and already sweat is already slicking his stomach, back and pits. He can only hope his father and grandfather can’t smell him from where they sit in their respective seats.

His father and grandfather had greeted one another civilly, and then lapsed into silence. It was as though they were waiting for something, though Zuko can’t see what. Normally, his grandfather got straight to business. He keeps his eyes on the floor (as always) and studies the black, glass tiled floor. He knows from years of sitting in that very spot that if he were to run the palms of his hands over its gleaming surface it would be smooth and cool to touch. Even as it reflected his face back at him, he still wondered how it could be so cold in a room so stiflingly hot.

He doesn’t dare look up at the higher platform, where his grandfather sits upon his ornate covered throne. Whenever he was forced to look up as a child, he’d look instead at the image of the dragon breathing fire behind the Fire Lord. If he stared long enough, he could just make out the glittering rubies encrusted in its golden head. When he was younger, it had been the cause of many nightmares. Now, it was almost a comfort in that sweltering room. He’d have to wait until his grandfather addressed him before he could see it though.

Just as he was contemplating if it’d be safe to sneak a glance at his mother, who sits beside him, the doors to the throne room open again, bringing with them a fresh breeze of cool air. He turns in his seat to better let it wash over his face, and see who else is entering.

 He draws a sharp intake of breath. His eyes trail after the two guards pulling a small, dark skinned boy through the length of the throne room. Zuko recoils and unthinkingly scoots his cushion closer to his mother’s when he sees the guards are heading straight for him. It’s without a doubt the water tribe boy. No one else has watery blue eyes like that, nor would even think of making obscene noises in the throne room like that.

The water tribe boy snarls as the guards forcibly drag him over to sit beside Zuko on the bare floor. He struggles and tries to rip his arms out of the guard’s grip, even though his hands are tied together with thick, muddy brown rope.

 

He can’t be older than Zuko is.

 

Just before the boy sits, his head turns to Zuko. He knows his eyes are wide and shamelessly stare, but never in his life had he seen a kid so different from himself. Skin as brown as a nut, blue eyes that simmered with pure _rage_ and something else too. Fear? Probably. If he was in this boy’s place, he would have already wet himself. His hair is the colour of Zuko’s leather bound notebook that he keeps hidden underneath his mattress. It’s tied back, but done so hap-hazard and messily that Zuko wonders if the boy had slept with it in. Dimly he’s aware that just as he is cataloguing these features to himself, the other boy is doing the exact same thing.

One guard moves to stand beside one of the many pillars within the room, whilst the other seats himself behind the water tribe kid and doesn’t let go of the bonds holding him. The other boy snorts and swiftly looks away. Instead of Zuko, the boy turns his ugly contorted face towards Zuko’s grandfather.

He knows almost nothing about this kid, but at that moment Zuko decides that this boy is either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Not even Azula with all her confidence and charm would even _think_ of looking at the Fire Lord like that.

“Now that we’re all here, it’s time we addressed the matter of our new house guest.” Azulon either hasn’t noticed the glare he’s receiving or he’s choosing to ignore it. He speaks as though they had a stray dog wander into the palace, rather than a boy from a nation half a globe away. “I’m sure none of you missed his loud entrance this morning, so I’ll get right to the point.”

Zuko is careful to not look directly up at the Fire Lord, but at the rubies in the dragon’s eyes. He wishes the boy next to him would do the same. His grandfather took it as a challenge whenever someone looked directly at him.

Ozai bows his head in acquisition, and they all follow suit save for the water tribe boy. When Zuko looks up, he glances warily out the corner of his eye to see if the boy has stopped making that ugly face. He hasn’t.

 

“Prince Zuko, stand up.”

 

It’s like a bucket of icy cold water has been dumped over his head. Did his grandfather spot him looking at the boy? Or had he realised Zuko’s attention wasn’t entirely on him and was going to punish him for it?

 

Surely his mother wouldn’t let…?

 

Azulon appeared to know the effect he’d had on his grandson. His lips quirked up into a cruel, humourless smile. Shakily, Zuko stands up. He doesn’t look into his grandfather’s eyes, but he can feel their cold, black gaze roaming over him, as though searching for some fault with him. His tongue runs nervously over his teeth.

“This boy is my gift to you. He was taken prisoner by a raid of the Southern Water Tribe, and their captain thought I might like the exotic pet they brought back. I’m old though, and have no need for savage little boys that can’t mind their manners.” His grandfather’s lips part, and on any normal person Zuko might have considered it to be a dark grin, but to him it looks like a grimace, “do with him as you please. That is all.”

Disbelieving silence rings through the room. Zuko is completely tempted to break it by running from the room and never looking back. His legs feel like they’ve merged with the floor though, and he’s certain that if he moves too fast right now he’ll throw up.

“Father—”

“No. That is all. Ozai, collect your family at once and leave. I’ve better things to deal with than this.” The last word comes out as a sneer.

Zuko nods and turns just in time to see his father swallow back an obvious angry retort. Zuko goes to stand next to his mother, and collectively they give his grandfather a deep bow. His father’s, he notes, isn’t as deep as it should be.

The water tribe boy is hauled to his feet and with an armoured hand forcing his head down, he too bows (if you can even call it that).

“Let me go!” He suddenly shouts, and all eyes fall to him, “I’m not some _pet_ or a toy! I’m a person, you can’t just give me to someone--!”

“ _Shut up,_ ” the guard hisses into the boy’s ear.

He doesn’t though. He shouts and twists and snarls and howls as they all leave the room, the boy bringing up the rear. He can hear Azula snickering to herself, entertained for now.

The doors open again and they’re blessed with the cool outside air. The boy’s shouts have gotten more desperate and sound so scared--- no longer angry.

“Prince Zuko, shall we take him to be trained?” The guard holding the boy’s bonds asks, ignoring the kid who is now kicking his shins with what looks like incredible force for a boy his size.

His mother’s eyes are on him. He can’t decide if they’re upset or approving, but he knows they’re on him. As are Azula’s and Ozai’s. They’re all waiting to judge his decision.

“…yes” he replies finally, and looks at none of them. He always looks at the floor at times like this.

 

Looking at the floor always makes interacting with his family so much easier.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh, there are moments where I both like this chapter and then there are others where I hate it. Oh wells.
> 
> Each comment you give me automatically equals one solid right hook to the side of Ozai's racist face. 
> 
> I'm reading like, four different things right now? So my writing style is a bit all over the place- apologies. 
> 
> Also, I love Azula at the beginning of this chapter. The idea that she's always resented being born a girl has always made me love her character more.


	4. I Want to be Ignorant, I Want to Know All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko properly meet without expectations breathing down their necks, and Sokka learns exactly what training entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is extremely un-beta'd.   
> Longer though! Because I felt bad for disappearing.

To be fair, Sokka hadn’t planned on speaking with the prince- or anyone for that matter- at all. For years, he’d used the silent treatment as a small work of revenge, and for the most part it payed off. His father was especially weak to it, though his mother wouldn’t tolerate it. Katara often returned the treatment, sometimes leaving months between them since they last spoke to one another, save for when they absolutely must.

But curiosity gets the better of him when the prince—Zuko? —shows up in his room only hours after he’d last seen him.

It’s still dark when the door to his new room creeks open, though sunrise can’t be far off. He lifts his head from the pillow and watches as a head pokes itself into the room. The figure freezes when his eyes meet Sokka’s.

“What do you want?” Sokka snarls, already rising out of the hard bed. He throws its blood-red sheets off his body. He’s sick to death of the colour red.

The prince slides himself into the room and hastily shuts the door behind him. Sokka tenses. The prince’s suspicious behaviour puts him on edge.

“I wanted to see you.” The prince says, and lowers his head. His hands clench and unclench his night-shirt, which Sokka is glad to see is white and not red. “I-I’ve never had my own servant before.”

There’s that word again. He didn’t understand it when the fire-lord used it. Sokka frowns and flicks loose hair out of his eyes, “Servant? What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what a servant is?” The prince’s eyes jerk back up to his, wide and golden, staring in disbelief.

“We don’t have them in the south.”

The prince—Zuko—stops. He clearly fumbles for the right words and wrings his hands out in front of him. “They’re… I don’t know how to describe it. They do things for us? Like cook and clean and fetch us stuff. You really don’t have them in the south?”

Sokka has to take a second to wrap his head around that. Seriously, he thinks, how is the fire-nation so supposedly great if their own royal family has other people doing their most basic of tasks?

“No. We—my sister and I—we either do those things ourselves or have our parents help us.” He eventually says.

He can see that the prince finds this information just as surprising as he found slaves. Sokka watches as the prince’s mouth opens and closes and his forehead pinches.

“I guess,” the prince says slowly, as though struggling to find the right words, “we just do things differently here. I’ve never met a person that didn’t have a servant before—though I guess servants don’t have servants, so maybe that counts?”

“Why don’t servants have servants?” Sokka asks, genuinely stumped.

“Because…they’re servants? I don’t know.”

But Sokka won’t let this go; he’s onto something here, he’s sure. His mind feels like it’s on the brink of some great revelation—about to grasp some big understanding of what this all means for him—but it refuses to, like his feet are on the edge of an iceberg and refuse to take that final step that will pummel him forward.

“And who chooses who is a servant and not a servant?”

Zuko steps closer into the room and looks toward the window. The moon hangs full-bellied in the inky-black sky. He prologues his answer by watching the fine branches of the tree outside sway in the night breeze. When he does answer, his voice is soft.

“I guess my grandfather. He’s the fire lord.” The prince’s mouth pulls up into a sneer, and for some reason Sokka decides he likes that look on the boy’s face, “My mother told me he makes really important decisions to make the fire nation the greatest nation in the world.”

Sokka glances at his hands and busies himself with picking out the dirt from underneath his nails. He knows the other boy is watching him again—and choses to ignore his wrinkled nose that he catches with a quick upward glance—and mules this new information over in his head before speaking his mind.

“He’s not doing a very good job then. My tribe hates the fire-nation.” He lets some venom drip into his words, “You took me. You fire-nation people took me from my mother and father, and even my little sister and gran-gran. My dad says you people kill too, and take whatever you want. That doesn’t sound so great to me.”

“The fire-nation does whatever it takes to make us the most important nation in the world—we want to share our greatness with the rest of the world, but you keep rebelling.” Zuko snaps back, but something in the other boy’s face tells him that the prince might not truly believe that. Maybe it’s the way the prince’s voice wobbles slightly, or the defensive haunch to his shoulders.

When Sokka speaks again, he searches Zuko’s face “I think it’s because you showing how great you are means taking and killing everything that makes us who we are. We don’t want that. You can’t just take whatever you want from people—my dad says that’s not how the world works.”

“That’s how the fire-nation works. That’s why you’re the servant, and I’m the master.”

“Master?”

“The person who owns a servant.”

Sokka blinks. “You can’t own a person.”

“You can. In the fire-nation, you can.”

This, Sokka realises, is true. He’d been a little naïve when it came to what he thought he knew about the fire-nation. He’d assumed the fire-nation followed the same system as the water tribe. Like the Fire-lord, for example. Before meeting him in person, Sokka had thought he’d be meeting a man like his father—a chief. One who cared about his people. But after seeing those cold, calculating eyes lined in an aging, apathetic face, he knew right then his judgement was wrong. Hadn’t his gran-gran always told him you can tell a lot about a person just by their eyes? The fire-lord scared him. He gave Sokka the impression of a hungry sea-lion.

He shakes his head and his hands fist the sheets of his bed, “I don’t like it. I don’t want to be your servant and do things for you- you should be able to do things for yourself.”

“I’m a prince. Prince’s don’t do things for themselves, we’re too important.”

“Which means I’m unimportant.” Sokka summarises, though he hears the bitterness in his own voice.

“Compared to me; yes. I’m more important than you are, so you should do the things I don’t want to do.”

They gaze at each other. There’s a hard look in the prince’s eyes that reminds Sokka of the fire-lord. Unbidden, his mind recalls the ancient man to the forefront of his thoughts. He wasn’t at all like the elders Sokka had been brought up around, who were kind and wise and eager to share stories. The fire-lord—though undeniably an elder—demonstrated his difference from the elders of the water tribe within only a few moments of Sokka meeting him. Lined lips wet with a clag of slimy white spit were constantly pulled down to match his seemingly permanent frown during the entire audience. Even his face was sunken and hung from his skull, as though his skin were chewing gum stretched over sharp, protruding bones. Not once did he smile, like Sokka felt all elders should. Even his gran-gran would flash him a gap-toothed smile whenever he pulled off a successful prank. The fire-lord looked as though he’d never smiled a day in his life.

And though there are years between the prince and his grandfather, Sokka can already see a glint of the fire-lord in Zuko. A— _what did his mother call it_? — capability. A capability for cruelty. Zuko clearly believed he was right.

“I hate it here. I want to go home.” He blurts suddenly, and hates how broken and sad he sounds.

Like it was never there to begin with, the look in Zuko’s eyes is gone. His face softens and his voice rings with sincerity when he speaks.

“You can’t. This is your home now. You belong to me because my grandfather says so- and my grandfather’s word is law here.” Zuko tells him and bites his bottom lip. A nervous tick.

Sokka hisses, “So, you expect me to stay here and be your servant—forget my family and home and all that so that you don’t have to do the things you don’t want to do, is that right?”

“You’ll go through training. I’ve organised for one of the palace servants to train you up. You’ll like her. I thought you’d want someone who was like you. You know, not from here.”

Sokka balls his fists, not caring at all about how deeply his nails press into his palms. “Train me?” he asks, voice wobbling.

He knows Zuko wants to console him, he can see it in his face, but he doesn’t want it. His entire body is shaking. Tears burn his eyes.

Zuko’s voice is far away and soft. He sits himself on the bed and Sokka is grateful that the prince doesn’t try to touch him. “Yeah, she’ll show you what’s expected from you and how to do things properly.”

He shakes his head and stares into his lap. “You’re serious about this. I’m really your servant, and you’re not letting me go home.”

“I-I didn’t want this either. My grandfather says I must have you. I have to do what they expect from me. It’s how it is. I’ve never had my own servant before.” Zuko says, his words crack with desperation.

Sokka sniffles and rubs at his eyes. Ugh. Men didn’t cry. Babies cried. He wasn’t a baby, was he? He had to be brave. Brave like his dad. He knows without looking that Zuko is watching him, and his face burns with shame at having someone witness his tears.

“I’ve never been someone’s servant before.” He mumbles and palms away the streaks of hot tears on his cheeks.

“It won’t be so bad. I won’t treat you like my father treats the servants.” Zuko promises, and Sokka blinks before turning his face to him.

“Your father? Why not?”

“I don’t want to be like him.”

Sokka is taken aback. He can’t imagine not wanting to be like his dad. His dad was cool, and smart and really brave. Didn’t all boys want to be like their dads?

“Because he’s mean?” he asks.

“Because he scares me.” Zuko whispers.

 

And that really throws Sokka.

 

He tries to remember the man sitting next to Zuko. He hadn’t been that memorable, aside from having those weird yellow eyes nearly ever fire-nation person seems to have. He does, however, remember the flash of anger that had rippled across his face when dismissed by the fire-lord.

He takes Zuko’s hand in his own and squeezes. Hard. “Your own dad shouldn’t scare you. He’s your dad.”

“He’s not like other dads. He hates me, but loves my sister.” Zuko says so quietly Sokka has to strain just to catch it.

“She’s the girl that was sitting next to you today, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

A girl’s pleased, smug smile pops into his head and he remembers. “She looks like your dad. Especially in the eyes.” He says.

“I know. She acts like him too.”

Sokka brightens, “Does that mean you act like your mum? You look more like her, I think.”

“You think so?” Zuko curls in on himself a little. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m like her, and then other times…”

“What?”

Zuko’s shoulders haunch as he whispers, “Sometimes I think I need to be more like my father, if I ever want to live up to my title.”

Sokka’s no expert, but that doesn’t sound right to him. He squeezes Zuko’s hand again, drawing the prince’s eyes to his face.

“I think you should be you. Don’t be either of them.”

A smile flickers on Zuko’s face, but quickly dies and Zuko shakes his head sadly, “easy for you to say, you’re not the one who’s entire future is on the line here.”

He’d like to point out that—yeah, it kinda is—but feels like now isn’t the time. Instead, he makes a split-second decision to put an arm around the other boy. There’s something very fragile about him, Sokka decides. Something that he missed at first. He can see it a bit better now. It’s like there’s this big weight holding the prince down, slowly crushing him. It’s weird, he decides, because he’s only ever felt like protecting his sister.

“How bad can it be? It’s not like they can kick you out for not being your dad.” Sokka tries to sound light-hearted.

A shadow crosses Zuko’s face, and the other boy scowls.

“It’s getting late. I’ll try to come see you at this time every night. It’s… nice talking to you.” Zuko ponders over his words for a second, then says “It was...different.”

He gets up, and Sokka watches him.  He chooses not to comment on the lack of answer. Instead, he bites his lip and asks;

“Are we friends?”

Zuko’s forehead pinches. “Royalty can’t be friends with servants. It’s common.”

Common; a word his mother used to describe the fish that often darted and flashed their ugly dull green-grey-white scales at frozen fishermen with hulking spears as they flew through the water. A common fish. A fish regularly eaten. Sokka had never heard it used to describe a friendship before.

“Sure you can.” He insists and slaps his thigh for emphasis, “Don’t you have any friends?”

“Azula has friends that play with me sometimes.”

Sokka shakes his head, “No, that’s not the same. I mean friends of your own.”

Zuko thinks on this logic, his mouth twisting back and forth like he’s swishing around his thoughts like water.

“I don’t like making friends. They only want to be my friends because I’m the prince.” He says at last, though the words don’t sound like his own to Sokka’s ears. It’s as though the prince is parroting someone else. Like there is a third person within the room, telling Zuko to repeat their words.

“Then we can be secret friends. Nobody has to know.” Sokka says.

“Friends? Why would you want to be friends with me? I’m your master. I’m the reason you’re here.”

More third person words. They spill from Zuko’s mouth and come out blocky.

“But you’re not- not really. You’re in the same boat as I am.” Sokka rises from the bed so that he stands in front of Zuko, “Besides, you’re the only person that has bothered speaking to me like I’m a person. I don’t have any friends here either.”

Zuko is torn, Sokka can tell. Zuko’s reason and logic war with what Sokka offers. Zuko may as well say his thoughts aloud, as they appear so openly on his face.

“I’ll still have to treat you like a servant when other people are around.” Zuko says.

As though Sokka had a choice in what Zuko decides to do with him.

He suppresses a shudder. His mind reaches for all the things Zuko could have him do. Mend shoes? Sew? Wash clothes? All things Sokka hated and was bad at.

At this point in time, it never occurs to Sokka that there might be more to slavery than just that.

“That’s fine, so long as you and I know the truth then it’s alright.” Sokka agrees, and holds out a hand.

Zuko blinks at it. Sokka flushes red. Did they not shake hands in the fire nation?

“I guess it can’t hurt.” Zuko says and takes his hand. Sokka notices how soft it is compared to his own brown, calloused hand. Had his always been rough? He can’t remember. Though, with a note of pride, he realised his hands matched his dad’s. Does Zuko even know who is father is? Let alone his new slave?

He smiles and looks directly into Zuko’s yellow eyes.

“Which reminds me—I’m Sokka.”

It’s Zuko’s turn to flush. “Oh! Oh, I’m Zuko.”

“I already knew that.” Sokka says and grins.

“Right.” Zuko’s eyes dart around the room.

“So, they’ll start training me?” Sokka presses, and tightens his grip on Zuko’s hand in case the prince decides to flee, “When?”

Zuko’s eyes slip back to Sokka’s, and Sokka doesn’t miss his nervous swallow. “Tomorrow morning. My father says I should have you ready to begin serving me as soon as possible.” He croaks.

It was the desperate note in Zuko’s voice that made Sokka pity the prince. Despite the unexplainable knowledge that things would be worse for him hovering over them both like dark, clotting shadows, Sokka worried. Not for himself, but for the fear that rampaged in those yellow eyes.

“Then I should get some sleep.” He tries to make himself sound calm, but the words feel clumsy in his mouth. He smiles softly to try and reinforce it.

Zuko nods and tugs his hand out of Sokka’s. “Yeah, me too. I’ll try to come visit.”

“Goodnight then, Zuko.” Sokka says, and watches Zuko turn and open the door.

“Goodnight Sokka” Zuko whispers, just before shutting the door.

Sokka tries to ignore the _click_ of the door locking.

 

 

***

 

Hours later—he can’t tell how many—the door opens again. This time, it’s the dark-haired woman from yesterday. She still has dark red lips painted on her face, as though she’d smeared berry juice carefully over her normal lips.

She doesn’t knock, or even wait to see if he wants her in. Sokka supposes that this isn’t really his room, and therefore anyone can come and go as they please.

His eyes are caught by the bright material in her clawed hands, and he cringes. It’s clothes. Red clothes to boot, though maybe a few shades duller than the one’s he saw Zuko wearing yesterday. Though he does spot some brown hidden amongst the red, so that counts for something.

“Don’t sneer. You’re not worthy to wear the clothes your master so considerately provided for you.” The woman snaps, voice cutting the air like his gran-gran’s sheers.

He glares at her instead, hoping that if he glares hard enough she’ll melt into a puddle on the cold,grey stone floor. Then he’ll leave and use his fire-eyes on anyone who gets in his way. He’ll steal a boat and sail straight for his dad. He might see Kohaku, and poke his eyes out before melting him too. They’ll sing songs about him, and it’ll go:

 

_There was a boy with fire eyes—dum dum_

_And he burned down anyone in his way—dum dum_

_And sailed home to his dad—dum dum_

_And—_

The woman snatches his chin with her disgusting red claws. He jerks away, but she holds firm. The claws bite into his skin. He can see the shine on her oily forehead better now, and her dust smelling clothes. The same colour as the ones she now has tucked under her arms.

 

_And he hated a woman so much— dum dum._

“You listen to me, boy. We’re going to beat that disobedience right out of you, understand?”

 

_that he danced on her ashes and laughed— dum dum_

 

He struggles in her grip, and gets a slap across the cheek for his efforts. The sting has him blinking back tears.

“I am Ya, and if you don’t want any more slaps than you’re going to _listen.”_

She punctuates the last word with another hard slap that makes Sokka go lax. He’s always cried when angry. It’s as though the anger fills him up so entirely that it must spill out somehow- someway.

She transfers her grip to his wrist—like yesterday—and drags him out the room. His tears blur the way, so that even if he wanted to go back to his-not-his room, he wouldn’t be able to find it. There’s stairs though; too many and charcoal grey. He doesn’t try to tug away from her anymore. He worries that if he does, he might run and stumble upon the fire-lord.

 

The king of evil. Child thief. Ruler of tearing families apart. Slave-maker.

 

So he lets Ya pull him along and be shoved into a wide, bare room. He blinks away the tears to better see where she’s taken him.

“Sit,” she commands and pushes down on his shoulders to force him to the floor. He lands with a dull thump. She tosses the clothes at him.

“Change and wait here. Your trainer will be here shortly.”

And with that, Ya spins on her black cloth heel and leaves him sitting on the padded white floor.

This room, he decides after letting his eyes have a few seconds to drink it all in, is much better. It’s no water-tribe hut, but it sure beats the red walls. He quickly pulls the dreadful clothes apart and strips off the clothes he’d worn since he’d first woken up in the fire-nation ship. He knows they smell and have food stains, but there’s no helping it now. He wonders if Zuko had seen them last night (or was it morning?) and thought badly of him.

The brown in his clothing turns out to be a pair of soft brown pants, again not made of any hide he’d worn before- but very similar to the pair Kohaku had dressed him in. He pulls them on, left leg then right, and wobbles uncertainly on each foot. That done, he shakes out the top and stops.  It’s nothing like he’s ever worn before. Had Ya mistaken him for a girl? It’s too long for a shirt. It could be a tunic if it didn’t open. It looked more like a wrap. A wrap-dress.

 

_He wore red dresses and everyone laughed— dum dum_

He wasn’t very good at making up songs.

Sokka almost drops it when the door opens—does nobody here knock? —and another familiar face enters.

He hastens to pull the dress-wrap over his exposed body as the girl practically skips into the room, careless about Sokka’s state of dress. The wicked grin on her face sends prickles up his spine.

“So! You’re Zu-Zu’s new toy.” She says in sing-song.

She’s maybe half a head shorter than he is, and a _girl,_ but he gets the impression that he’s being watched by a leopard seal.

“I’m Sokka.” He answers and unthinkingly shrinks away.

She comes closer, pure delight shining on her moon white face. She shares Zuko’s nose. His thin lips. His hair and eye colour. But that’s where the similarities end. He wasn’t kidding when he told Zuko his sister looks more like their father.

“It’s good Zu-Zu’s training you. You definitely don’t know how to act around royalty.” Her grin falters, and she treats him to a thoughtful frown, “You won’t be all new and shiny when they’re done with you.”

“What do you mean?” Curiosity gets the better of him, forcing him to ask.

“Well, you’re supposed to address me the second I walk in the room—and call me Princess, because that’s what I am.” She tells him, very matter of factly. She juts her chin up as she talks. Any more and she’ll be looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t even know your name.” Sokka mumbles, and grips the dress-wrap tightly.

She starts circling him, eyeing him as she does so, and sighs dramatically. “Princess Azula, daughter of Prince Ozai and Princess Ursa, dummy. Do you really not know anything?”

He avoids her sharp eyes. Any minute now and she’ll pounce, just like the leopard seal did with the penguin. Katara had screamed so loud, his eardrums had rung hours later. The slowly spreading red on the ice would puncture their nightmares for weeks. She’d hated going out with him after that, and he didn’t blame her. He’d avoided going out on his own too, scared that next time he’d be the penguin, and his own blood would stain the ice.

“Are you deaf as well? Now I’m glad grandfather didn’t give you to me. I don’t want a slave that doesn’t listen.”

She still circles, and his penguin brain wants him to run.

“A dumb, deaf slave.” She giggles, clear like a bell, and unexplainable fear coils in a tight knot in his stomach, “though at least you’ll be able to do what they want you to. Anyone can just lay there, after all. And Zuko can—”

“Princess Azula, what are you doing in here?”

In tandem, they both turn their heads to the door. Azula drops her leopard seal mask and slips on another, sweeter face. Thin pink lips tug up into a charming smile, and she tucks her hands behind her back.

“No-thing” she stretches the word into two, in a tooth-achingly sweet chirp.

He doesn’t find out what exactly Zuko can do, because without prompt the princess bends her knees and dips her head before running and scooting around the woman at the door without further interruption. Sokka stares after her wistfully, wishing he could also leave. He’s already had it with today. Too many new people telling him confusing things and forcing him around. The red room is starting to look a little more inviting. At least there he was sort of left alone.

The woman who enters is a new face, and definitely eye catching. She has Sokka’s full attention without having to say anything to him. Though she wears the same clothes as Ya, it’s clear she’s of another design. It’s her makeup that has Sokka staring so blatantly. Never had he seen anyone wear anything like it. Porcelain white paint rounds her face, ears and neck. Her exaggerated eyebrows flow into her brown hairline, and red eyelids and lips contrast shockingly with the white of her face. Even the kohl lining her eyes is dramatic and carefully placed. Sokka can’t help gawking.

“Why is your shirt not on?” She asks, her deep voice shocking him out of his stupor.

He looks down at the dress-wrap he holds, and frowns. “I don’t know how to put it on.”

He raises his head to see her staring at him, face blank. They both watch one another; one half-naked and the other completely covered. If it weren’t for the hands tucked beneath her crossed arms, he’d have guessed the white paint was her skin.

She closes her eyes briefly and inhales deeply like she’s walking into battle then comes completely into the room, letting the door fall shut behind her. She does not hurry, nor does she hesitate to step toward him. She takes the red cloth from him and turns it around. Only then does he see (roughly) where his arms are meant to fit and where his head should come out of. In silence, she throws it around his shoulders for him and waits for him to put his arms in the correct holes.

It’s so similar to how his mum used to dress him as a kid, it hurts.

“Like this,” she says and presses the left side to his chest before covering that with the right, “and then you tie it with this…”

He pays careful attention to how she does it, so that he never has to rely on someone else to dress him again. He’s not a kid anymore. He doesn’t need anyone dressing him.

“Done.” She pulls away and smiles brightly, pleased with her work. “You look like every other servant here.”

Sokka tries not to screw up his face. Make-up lady seems nice. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings and make her hate him already.

Make-up lady steps back and looks him up and down, appraising him with wooden, brown eyes. “I am Jaya, your instructor. You will call me ‘teacher’, and obey my instructions when I give them. Don’t, and I’ll have no other choice than to inform your master and leave the punishment to him.” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t have to tell you that the punishment is nothing nice, do I?”

Punishments rarely were, in his opinion.

“No, teacher” he obediently replies, as though she were his dad giving a lecture. The ‘I’ll tell you what you want to hear and nothing else’ voice. You don’t get smacks for that. At least, you don’t in the water tribe.

Jaya rewards him with another quick, red painted smile.

“What are you training me for exactly?” He hopes she doesn’t snap at him for fidgeting his hands in his new red clothes. “I don’t know how to sew or anything. Those are girl chores.” He wrinkles his nose.

As soon as he’s said it, he knows he’s messed up. The smile vanishes and is replaced with a deep frown; those thickly drawn eyebrows stretching from hairline to meet her mouth.

“There are no such things as ‘girl chores’ and ‘boy chores’, even in this hell hole.” She says and tilts her head, like she’s trying to get a better angle on him. Her eyes were now harsh wooden blocks.

Sokka freezes, all very suddenly sorry for having said it, though not all sure why. Sorry because he didn’t want to upset her. Sorry because her voice sounded much like mums. Confused though, because he didn’t know why ‘girl chores’ upset her. Did she not like her chores? Nobody did though. Not him. Not Katara. Not Mama or Papa. Or gran-gran and her snickering sheers she used to snicker away the skin off animals. Not his friend, Kesuk, who spat in his cousin’s food one night and was spanked so hard he howled. Nobody likes chores.

“I’m sorry,” he hurries to say, “I didn’t know.”

Some of the harshness leaves her face, and her eyebrows return to their proper place.

“It’s fine. Things are different, no matter where you go in this world. Different customs for different people.”

Sokka nods, pretending to understand. His thoughts catch and replay her words in his head. She’d called this place a hell-hole, hadn’t she? A HEL-HOL. A hole full of hells, whatever that meant.

“Are you not from here, teacher?”

Jaya’s lips pull slightly, and she glances around the room.

“I’ll be training you in ways to assist the prince. Bathing him, clothing him, fetching his food and water and whatever else he needs you to do. As well as that, I’ll be teaching you how to properly behave and address those ranking above you.” Her tongue swipes away a little of the red paint. She’ll have to re-apply it.

Not easily deterred, Sokka repeats, “are you not from here?”

“No.” Jaya says. She doesn’t look at him.

She’s not from the water tribe, he’s sure. There are hundreds of places in the world. But because she’s not from here, Sokka decides he really likes Jaya.  She hasn’t done anything especially nice, but he likes her and her strong make-up.

“You’ll meet me here for an hour each day and we’ll go through all your training. After that, you may eat with me before going to assist the prince in whatever he wants you to do. If he doesn’t require you for anything, then you’ll go help the other servants in their quarters. Are we clear?”

Sokka bobs his head.

“Good. Be obedient and listen to what your betters tell you to do. Never talk back, under any circumstances and stay out of the way unless called for.

Another nod. He stops fidgeting with the cloth that ties his clothes together.

She returns it with her own approving nod.

Yes, Sokka decides, he likes her.

She and the prince are his allies against the evil fire-lord.

 

_The boy had two friends – dum dum_

 

_Two means to an end – dum dum_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i still can't fuckin write. Uni has changed my writing style (my ever changing style, how i love you) to something you're all going to read and be like '???' but its okay! (someone pls boost my confidence, i know this is crap but ive been staring at this doc for ages and just went 'fuck it')


	5. To A Place Where No-One's Seen Us Before

Summer makes a rapid arrival in the fire-nation. Temperatures swell to impossible, unbearable heats. Even those native to the fire-nation find their clothes soaked with sweat before midday, and swear profusely that winter can’t come soon enough. Winter made the weather pleasant enough to work in for people of all professions.

Two guards standing at one of the many grand fire-nation palace gate entrances can attest to that. Regardless of the weather, they are made to wear their complete palace uniform. They can perhaps be forgiven for taking their helmets off and tossing them on the floor, beside where they each slouch against the granite wall. It isn’t as though there is anyone else wandering about in this heat, so they decide that they can afford to be a little slack today. Just this once.

Guard duty is, to summarise, boring—especially when there isn’t anyone at all to watch. It’s hardly surprising that they strike up conversation between themselves to pass the time.

“This heat is ridiculous.” Ruo says with a disgruntled noise of complaint. “It’s pure torture being out here.” He kicks his helmet before he smacks his head back against the wall.

Azoka snorts and replies wryly, “Where I’m from, it gets hotter than this.”

Still, she has to admit that it’s been awhile since she’d felt exhausted by the heat—but Ruo doesn’t have to know that. It’s his own fault for never showing his ugly mug outside of the royal city. It took a bit of seasoned traveling to build up her tolerance of extreme weather. She refuses to feel sorry for him.

He’s about to retort with something no doubtedly stupid— because he’s young and dumb and of course she got saddled with a guy so green behind the ears, when she catches the unmistakeable sound of rapid footsteps approaching from behind.

“Look alive.” She shoots at him and straightens up. There’s no time to grab her helmet without making it obvious. Ruo doesn’t have her same sense of insight and lunges at his own. He’s still bent over when the owner of those footsteps comes upon them.

It’s Jaya, the weird face-painted woman blackmailed into permanent servitude of the royal family. Azoka relaxes a little.

“Azoka. Ruo.” Jaya inclines her head respectfully at each of them. Azoka returns it, only because Jaya has never caused her problems and has always made an effort to learn the guard’s names. She’s strange, Azoka muses, but harmless.

Another testament to how different she is from her partner is that he very clearly doesn’t share her sentiment towards Jaya. He sneers at her before barking “Where are you off to?”

Jaya fixes her hard, brown eyes at him but keeps her face blank. “I’m training a new staff member.” She replies. She turns her head to look behind her, and it’s then that Azoka sees that she isn’t alone.

“This is Sokka.” Jaya states and loops an arm around the shoulders of a kid. The brat can’t be more than ten, and like a true student he mirrors his instructors stony face. Azoka inwardly sweats. Just what she needs—another weirdo.

Azoka nods them through, grateful Ruo doesn’t kick up a fuss as they pass. She watches the woman and child plod along in the heat and is suddenly struck with the mental image of a mother turtleduck leading her young to the pond. She snickers into her hand.

“Something funny?” Ruo asks and slouches back against the wall.

She doubts he’d see the humour in it. Sure enough, Ruo’s mouth does a funny twist and his piggy eyes watch after the two figures.

“They’re not from here.” he accuses, scorn practically dripping from his words. “You can tell.”

Azoka rolls her eyes, “Of course they’re not from here, dumbass” she agrees. “You think the fire lord would make slaves out of his own loyal citizens?”

“They don’t even bother to hide it. Especially that bitch with her make-up.”

“Ah, leave them be Ruo. They’re not doing any harm.” She says in a voice that brooks no argument. She settles herself back against the wall comfortably and smiles teasingly, “you really think a ten-year-old is gonna cause problems?”

She doesn’t like the way he still watches them when he says, “you can never trust outsiders.”

 

*

“Do we have to do more training? I didn’t know it could get so hot.” Sokka whines as he dutifully keeps in step with Jaya.

“Trust me, you’ll want to learn this.” Jaya says with a mysterious half smile.

He screws his nose up. Only a week had passed since he’d gotten here and judging from how quickly Jaya moved from one lesson to another, he’d say he was picking things up quickly. It wasn’t exactly difficult to learn, but it was hard work. Mostly he just had to do the things he usually did for himself but for Zuko. Stuff like dressing the prince, bathing the prince, doing his hair, bringing him breakfast each morning—easy stuff. The only thing he was still struggling with was sewing and mending clothes.

Jaya had grinned when he threw Zuko’s pants at her head and announced that sewing was impossible and that he’d never look at the women in his family the same way. She’d helped him fix it (after he’d apologised for the mini tantrum) and showed him what he was doing wrong.  
Still, he can’t think of what else he needs to know. Cooking maybe? Then why are they going outside? He wracks his brain for answers the whole way and almost misses it when Jaya comes to an abrupt stop.

“We’re here.”

Sokka looks up and frowns. Jaya has taken him to an empty field, where someone had pulled back and ripped up the thick grass to expose the earth. Supposedly that same person had stamped the earth hard and try to make the circle smooth.

“A dirt circle?” he says sceptically.

“A training ground.” Jaya corrects and strides over to the centre of it.

Sokka follows, though hesitantly, and scans the area for something to better explain why they’re here. This is his first time seeing grass in the fire-nation. He was starting to think that save for the palace gardens, there wasn’t any. It’s a shame someone had to destroy the grass here to make the dirt circle.

Jaya takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Sokka watches her face, still painted with her ever-present make-up. He wonders privately if the fire-nation will make him wear it someday, or if it’s just a Jaya thing. Though the wind stirs her hair around her white face, Jaya herself stands eerily motionless. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of her chest, she could blend in with the tall tree’s in the far distance. It feels like an eternity before she speaks.

“Today,” she says breathily, “I train you to fight.”

Sokka perks up at that. His dad had promised to teach him how to fight properly soon! He knew a little, but was nowhere near anything like the men of his tribe. His mind races with questions his mouth can’t move quick enough to ask.

“You’ll teach me? Now? When did you learn to fight? Are you any good? Who taught you? When—”

She silences him with a single raised hand and pins him with a look that says stop-asking-so-many-questions-Sokka.

He grins sheepishly and waits for her to speak.

“Yes, I will teach you. I learnt years ago on my home island, from my instructor. A woman that could easily take a hundred fire-nation soldiers without any bending.” She explains in that soft, patient voice Sokka has become so accustom to over the week.

“Bending?”

She raises a single brow, “you don’t know what bending is? The manipulation of the four elements; Water, Earth, Fire and Air?”  
“Oh,” Sokka says, chest flooding with relief, “you mean the magic?”

“The magic.” Jaya parrots, deadpanned.

“Yeah, that’s what I call it. My sister does magic with the water.”

He cringes at the look she’s sending him, shrinking away from her. She stares at him like he’d said a bad word. One of those really bad words. When she clicks her tongue, he wonders what he’s done wrong now.

“You’re too loose lipped,” she tells him, sounding annoyed and shakes her head, “you need to learn that some things are better kept to yourself.”

Sokka tilts his head and frowns at her, “why?”

“Because information is dangerous and powerful. You don’t give your enemy your prized possession and then ask that they don’t destroy it. Do you want them to find your sister and hurt her for bending?

“The fire-nation values only fire-benders and see’s the bending of the other elements as a potential threat. In other words, Sokka, dangerous. They’ll hunt down any water-bender or earth-bender they can.”

He can understand that. He shuffles his feet in place and looks at them. What he can’t understand is why? Why all the war? Why were they scared of other types of bending?

Jaya must see his confusion because she signs and says, “just avoid telling people about your old life, okay? We can both sleep peacefully if you do.”

His old life? Does she mean home?

She claps her hands together loudly, making him jump. “Right! No more talking, we don’t have long before we’re needed back.

And—huh. He actually learns something.

She guides his body through different stances, explaining their purpose and how they’ll benefit him during a fight. She teaches him to breathe between each stance, because it turns out he has a nasty habit of holding his breath when concentrating intensely. Hours must have passed before eventually he thinks he remembers them all. Jaya’s hand only shoots out to correct an arm or foot slightly out of place maybe once or twice. Still, it isn’t technically fighting and that’s what he’s really been looking forward to. He grits his teeth when she makes him go through another set of stances for the millionth time. Okay, now that he’s got these stances he should move straight onto learning how to chop things in half with his hands, right?

Jaya catches his frustration, “Something wrong, runt?”

He frowns and drops his arms, releasing himself from the stance. He tries to curb the annoyance from his voice, but he’s pretty sure she picks up on it when he says, “I’ve learnt them, can I learn to fight now?”

The muscle in Jaya’s jaw twitches. Sokka swallows hard, because that was probably the wrong thing to say.

“Do you feel confident enough to say that these moves are second nature to you now, after only spending twenty minutes practicing?” She asks, and there’s a steely edge to her voice, “It takes months of practice for these to become as easy as breathing, maybe years. Tell me, how is it you’ve mastered them all in a matter of minutes when everyone else who has learnt this fighting style has taken much longer, hm?”

He groans, “it’s only been twenty minutes?”

She bends her knees and presses her face close to his. The perfumed smell of her face-paint is overpowered by the musk of her sweat. Her smile is sweet, but rings false and makes him tense.

“You’ll die a gristly death for your impatience and arrogance. Luckily, I’ll weed that out of you before the day has ended.” She hisses, anger glowing like a coal in her eyes.

He swallows heavily and opens his mouth to retort, but as quick as a rat-viper from one of the book’s he’d read as a child she’s hooked her foot behind his right knee and pulled. His arms flail for something to catch and he has a split second of seeing the fire-nation’s bright blue sky (the only blue he ever sees here, might he add) before his back lands on the hot earth with a mighty thwump.

He groans and shifts sideways in the dirt, tears springing to his eyes. That hurt! He opens his eyes, because they snapped shut on impact, and feels his heart make a mad dash up his throat—Jaya’s foot is coming right for his face! His mind tells him this, but his body is frozen. He can only watch with wide, fearful eyes as the foot plummets toward his nose.

And stops.

A mere inch, if that, from the very tip of his nose.

“You’re holding your breath again, runt.”’

As if on command, he sucks in a much-needed breath. Jaya looks to be fighting back a playful smile, and loosing.

“Learn your stances, brat, and we’ll move straight onto teaching you how to dodge that move.”

He can’t help it, he pouts and snaps, “That wasn’t fair!”

“Tough shit, life’s unfair.” She grunts. “Now get up and go through it again.”

He gets to his feet, grumbling under his breath, and shoots her a dark look which she annoyingly ignores. He goes through the sets of stances maybe seven more times before he pick up on Jaya turning her head away from him and stiffening. He lowers his arms and looks in the same direction, then drops the stance entirely. A large group of people are heading their way.

It’s when his eyes strain for a better look that he spots Zuko and Azula walking beside a noble woman, each with a hand in hers. His brain struggles to recall where he’d seen her face while they approach. It isn’t until the group and the ridiculous amount of servants carrying sticks with cloth spread out on the end (to protect them from the sun maybe?), jugs of water and golden platters of cut fruit are in front of them that Jaya bows.

“Lady Ursa.” She greets flatly, “And prince Zuko and princess Azula.”

Oh—shit.

He hastily bows just as Jaya straightens up. It’s been a week since he’d last seen lady Ursa, how was he meant to know?

“Jaya.” Lady Ursa responds, though warmly and with a friendly smile. But Jaya doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead she crosses her arms and purses her lips, looking the perfect picture of hostile.

He doesn’t get it and makes a note to ask her about it later. His gaze skitters away from lady Ursa to princess Azula, then hastily away to Zuko. Actually, he’s surprised the royal family are even out in this heat. If it were up to him, he’d be inside where it’s cool, or swimming in a deep, ice-cold river. He can just picture himself floating lazily on the water’s surface, without a care in the world. Would Katara appreciate the heat? Or hate it like he does? Probably hate it, knowing her. Still, it’s perfect weather for swimming and she could probably get some of her magic practice done.

Lady Ursa says something, and he snaps out of his daydream. He winces. She’s staring at him like she’s expecting him to talk.

“Err, sorry—I missed that.” He says and tries to give her his most apologetic smile. It sometimes worked with his dad, but never his mum. He can only pray it works on her. Jaya looks about ready to kill him.

Azula scoffs and gives him a nasty sneer, then tugs on her mother’s robes impatiently. “He’s ignoring us!”

“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.” Lady Ursa dismisses and pets the top of Azula’s head soothingly. Azula, realising there won’t be any punishment for Sokka, glares at him with murderous golden eyes.

It’s odd, he thinks. The fire-lord had golden eyes like her, as did Zuko and his mother. And yet they were all very different in some way. Azula’s always looked fiery and ablaze with fury, and Zuko’s were bright and kind—not unlike his mothers, Sokka notices. Then, if maybe scarier than all were the fire-lord’s. They reminded him strongly of dead fish eyes, staring blankly and unseeingly, making him think of the deepest pools of water beneath the ice. They made him shiver just thinking of them.

“I said, Zuko was wondering if he could borrow you for a while.” Lady Ursa tells him. Then, with a knowing smile she adds, “It seems as though he has a few things for you to do.”

“Oh!” Sokka brightens and trades a glance with Zuko, who’s face remains blank, “of course!”

Jaya clears her throat pointedly and he tacks on hastily, “thank you for tolerating my stupid-ness”

He turns his head to look up at Jaya, seeking approval—wait why is she rolling her eyes?

Learning what ‘tolerating’ meant had been the easy part of Jaya’s lesson a few days ago. It had been learning to thank people for not getting mad at him that had been hard. At home, his parents rarely got mad at him for making a mistake. Sure, they’d tell him where he went wrong and help him fix it—but never screamed or shouted like Jaya promised the royals would do if he messed up. She’d told him that if he did make a mistake and they brushed it off, he was to thank them ‘for tolerating me’. It was weird how much she stressed it.

“You’re fine, love.” Lady Ursa says and flashes him another dazzling smile. He returns it, though shyly.

Zuko tugs on Lady Ursa’s sleeve and cups a hand around her ear once she’s bent to his level. Sokka shuffles his feet in the dirt, trying to assure himself that just because Lady Ursa’s eyes keep darting to him doesn’t mean they’re talking about him.

Jaya subtly reaches out and squeezes his elbow. He stops twisting his feet in the dirt. On Lady Ursa’s other side, Azula inches closer, her round face steadily turning more and more red. Sokka bites back a snort. She looks like one of those red berries that grow in the south.

“Alright, I suppose.” Lady Ursa huffs and stands. She take’s Azula’s hand in her own and looks to Jaya. “My son would like to go to the lake, do you need Sokka at all today?”

“Not at all, Lady Ursa.” Jaya says with a bow, her face still stoic and hard.

“I’m happy to be of service.” Sokka also bows, and is grateful for the opportunity to hide his own face. He doesn’t like that she didn’t ask him if it was alright—but then again, nobody ever did here.

“Wonderful! You can go with Zuko now to get ready.” Lady Ursa says cheerfully. She nods to Jaya, who’s lips thin, then leaves with her flock of servants just as suddenly as she arrived. Sokka grimaces without care. The longer he stays here, the less he understands them and their stiff rules.

“Come on.” Zuko grumbles and seizes his wrist. Sokka clicks his tongue when Zuko pulls—don’t the people here know there are other ways of making him follow them? He doesn’t need to be pulled everywhere. Maybe it’s how they’re raised here. If something isn’t being done quick enough, use force. He stumbles a little and looks back to Jaya. Her face is as flat as the circle of hard-packed earth she stands on. A small slice of his heart goes out to her, but it’s drowned out by the bubble of excitement flooding him. The lake! He and Zuko can finally get away from the prying eyes that follow them everywhere.

They make a quick stop at Zuko’s room, where Sokka rushes around the room packing everything he thinks Zuko might need. He’s practically bouncing with excitement as he strips Zuko out of his fussy prince clothes, causing the prince to trip over his own pants and fall flat on his ass.

“Be careful!”

Sokka snorts and helps Zuko to his feet, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Sorry. Here, throw these on.”

Zuko splutters angrily as a pair of shorts hit him square in the face. He rips them off his head and shoves them back roughly into Sokka’s chest. “You’re supposed to help me!”

“You’re such a baby.” Sokka says, but obliges. He squats down and holds them steady for Zuko to step into them. In a zip, they’re in place and Sokka is back up and jittering on the spot.

Zuko rolls his eyes, but there’s the beginning of a smile quirking on his lips. Together they half walk, half run to Sokka’s lonely little room, jostling each other as they go. Neither of them see Azula’s envious eyes peeking out at them from one of the rooms, watching their playful shoves as they go. Excitement has made them blind to everything else, as well as the promise of escape from the heat and palace life.

It’s when they get to his little red room that Sokka’s heart falls. He stops in front of his little dresser, fingers curling around the handles. He doesn’t have any shorts to swim with. Only his underwear. He wouldn’t think anything of swimming in his underwear at home, but he needs them for the day after tomorrow. He was only given two pairs, and years of his mother knocking it into his head told him he needed fresh clean clothes every day.

He turns back to Zuko and see’s that the other boy hasn’t noticed. Instead he’s gazing around Sokka’s room with the kind of wonder Sokka holds for the entire palace. His eyes follow the path of Zuko’s own, trying to figure out what could make the prince of the fire nation interested in a room half the size of his own bathroom.

Zuko’s eyes flicker to him, “Ready?”

Sokka fidgets with his hands and looks to the floor. He’s embarrassed to admit that he doesn’t want to have to wait for his underwear to dry.  
“Sokka, what’s wrong?”

“I…” he starts and grimaces. Would Zuko be mad? Would Zuko stop being friends with him because he couldn’t do the things Zuko wanted to do. “I don’t have anything to swim with.”

Zuko blinks once. Twice. On the third he smiles and says, “just wear whatever you’ve got. I’ll get you another when we get back. You can even borrow some of my clothes.”

And just like that, his fears are washed away. They even feel silly. Back in the water tribe, he wouldn’t have hesitated in asking to borrow something like clothes. Here is so different though, in too many ways. Here, he only has one friend (Jaya is his teacher, he’s not sure she counts) and he isn’t sure at all what might upset him. Zuko, unaware of the slight unease he’d caused Sokka, goes back to gazing around the room.

A small voice that sounds a lot like Jaya tells him to be careful. Though Zuko doesn’t think anything of lending Sokka his clothes, something tells him other people in the palace might not like it. Zuko’s dad flashes to mind. He bites his lip, but promises himself that so long as he returns the clothes before anyone sees him, it might be okay.

“I just need underwear, if that’s okay” Sokka says, and Zuko looks away from the bars on his window to nod.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

Zuko gets another servant to fetch them towels, telling Sokka he wants it to feel as though they’re both getting a day off. Whatever Zuko’s taking a break from, he doesn’t say, but Sokka gets the feeling it might have something to do with his family. He’s not fussed—any excuse to take a break is welcomed in his books. Towels in hand, they finally set off for the lake. Sokka listens as Zuko rambles on about it being pretty much exclusive to the royal family and their guests. He nods along and feigns interest, but really all he can think about is swimming and playing. He can’t remember when he last did anything fun. With Katara months ago maybe? Or was it with one of the other kids back home?

Zuko leads the way to the lake toward some tall, lush green trees. It isn’t the first time he’s seen green plants here, but his mind keeps snapping back to his journey to the palace. Outside of the big crater the city was nestled in, life seemed to have been sapped dry by the sun. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the fire-nation. People shout as they go by. Mostly guards that seem to know Zuko, but occasionally a servant will lift their head out of a garden bed to call a cheerful greeting to the prince. Their eyes slide over Sokka, as though he may as well be a pet accompanying his master. Zuko would return them politely, but his face told Sokka that their familiarity was one-sided.

“How do they know you so well?” He asks once they’re parting through the first line of trees. Zuko shoots him a look.

“I’m the prince.” He says, as though it were obvious.

“I know that,” Sokka snaps with a scowl, “I wanna know why they’re so friendly to you when they’re supposed to…you know…” he trails off.

Zuko shrugs. “I’m nice to the servants and guards. Mother says it’s polite.” Zuko’s eyes shift away to the front. “Besides, there’s nobody but you and me around. They know it’s okay.”

“You don’t know them though, do you?”

“Not really. There’s so many, but mother says I should try to learn their names.” He grimaces. “It’s too bad I’m not good with names.”

They trudge through the trees. Not big enough to call a forest, that’s for sure. They look as though they’ve been deliberately planted on the palace grounds. It’s such a small group of trees that he’s sure they wouldn’t even show up on a map. They’d just be a spec of green from above. Sokka feels a twinge of annoyance, as well as sweat beading and running down his face. Just when he thinks he’s seen everything in the palace, someone shows him a new place. The good news is, he can see the lake between the trees. Maybe they were planted there to hide the lake? Or act as a curtain, making the lake feel a little more private.

It’s plain Zuko has been here before. He doesn’t twist his head around to try and catch sight of everything. His eyes occasionally flick to Sokka, but other than that he walks with a casual ease Sokka hasn’t seen before. His arms swing with each step. He’s…relaxed.

“It’s nice here.” Sokka comments, only for the sake of conversation. “Our lakes are always frozen, and you have to walk a bit if you want to see some actual trees.” He finishes hesitantly, suddenly worried Zuko wouldn’t like him talking of home, like Jaya. But Zuko handles with a lazy smile.

“I want to see it someday.”

Sokka brightens and barely notices that he’s mirroring Zuko’s walk. His arms swing by his sides, and he isn’t ashamed of the light skip to his step. Zuko would love the South Pole, he thinks. He’d show Zuko how to pack the perfect snowball and how to build the strongest fort out of only ice. He’d even let Katara play with them, if she promised not to make them play with her dolls. The grin that had worked its way onto his face slowly fades with the dawning realisation that it would never happen. His heart sinks in his stomach. He’d be extremely lucky to ever leave the fire-nation, let alone bring Zuko with him anywhere. Zuko doesn’t notice his sobering mood. He’s too absorbed in his freedom to pay attention. Sokka doesn’t blame him. It must be hard having everyone watch you, making sure you behaved like they wanted you.

“We’re here.”

Too lost in his thoughts, Sokka hasn’t noticed they’d come to the edge of the lake. Unabashed, he gawks at it. It’s tiny compared to the ocean, but he can’t remember seeing anything like it. He wasn’t kidding when he said all the lakes at home were frozen. They never melted. Ever. He didn’t know what he expected when Zuko said they’d be swimming in the lake, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He was right about the trees. They curtain the lake off from the rest of the world, which Sokka is sure there was probably a wall behind them at the other end of the lake. Grass of a variety of colour sprawls out under their feet and circles the lake before disappearing back into the trees. His eyes spot a pier cutting through the centre of the water and stopping almost halfway. But what makes him stare so intensely was the colour of the water. The ocean at home was nearly black, and always had crashing waves slopping against the ice. The lake is so lightly coloured it could be the sky. It didn’t even have waves, just gentle water lapping at the edges. He jumps when Zuko prods him with an elbow.

“Nice, huh?” He can hear the proud grin in Zuko’s voice.

Sokka turns his head to meet Zuko’s eyes, “It’s amazing.”

They stand staring at the lake for a little longer, but before long Zuko’s patience wears out. Playfully he pushes Sokka and takes of sprinting, shouting over his shoulder “Last one in has to steal something from Azula!”

“No way!” Sokka shouts back and takes off after him. He pushes his legs to go as fast as they could, laughing madly as he went, and pushes off the bank at the same time as Zuko. Zuko has the sense to curl in on himself as he leaps, making a cannonball, but Sokka jumps with his arms outstretched. His belly crashes the water first and it burns like a hundred hands have smacked his front. The wet slap echoes in his own ears as he kicks his way to the surface.

He surfaces spluttering and moaning for his hurts. Zuko is laughing hard enough to leave himself gasping for air, clutching at his sides. Sokka sneers at him half-heartedly before splashing the prince. Zuko’s laughter stops abruptly as the water slaps his face. Sokka breaks into fits of giggling at that—Zuko looks like a startled lion-seal! The water fight was on. They splash and race away from one another, each laughing like they’d just remembered how to. It’s the most fun Sokka has had in a long time, and from the looks of Zuko’s face it’s the same for him. He forgets about his home, the fire-nation and even training with Jaya.

When they run out of breath and energy, they decide to just lazily paddle around while talking.

“They think I’m the only one swimming, and that you’re just here to make sure I have everything I need.” Zuko explains with a slow sweep of his hand through the edge of the water. “You’ll need to make sure you’re sort-of dry by the time we get back. At best, they’ll assume I asked you to bring me something in the water.”

Sokka nods uncaringly. He can’t bring himself to worry what everyone else might do if they thought he’d been swimming and playing with the prince. Let them think whatever. But Zuko sounds determined as he thinks up excuses for Sokka. “They probably won’t ask.” Sokka reassures, though distractedly.

Zuko frowns at him and paddles a little closer, “It won’t hurt to be careful about it though.”

“Meh, we can think of something on the spot anyway. Let’s just enjoy it for now.”

He turns and floats on his back. His eyes follow the path of the gently moving clouds, working out shapes as they slowly drift by. He forces away any thought of what waits for him when he gets back. He doesn’t want to think about the chores, or Jaya’s disapproving glare. He’s not sure what she’ll be glaring at him for this time, but it’s always something.

He sighs and lets himself be drifted along by the water. If he can’t go back home, he at least wishes for more days like this. Days where he and Zuko can just relax, and nobody expects anything from him. His eyes drift shut, and dimly he’s aware of Zuko copying him. Yes, more days like this. More days for just them, he thinks.

 

*

 

“Sire, your son has sent a letter from the walls of Ba-Sing-Se. It’s addressed to you.”

No matter how many times Lae addressed the Fire-Lord, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. It unnerves him how the Lord could sit in a room of flames on such a hot day and not even break a sweat. Unnatural. Freakish.

“Bring it to me.”

Lae rises from the floor and cautiously makes his way over. He’s careful to not let his steps make any sound, and not rush. Any sign of that would piss the Fire-Lord right off. He likes his head on his shoulders, thank you very much. He hands the scroll over, and resumes his spot on the floor; eyes staring blankly at the floor. He waits. He has not yet been dismissed.

“It seems my son will be returning home.”

Lae blinks and looks up. Iroh returning so soon? The Earth Kingdom had crumpled quicker than he thought.

“Sire? He has taken Ba-Sing-Se then?” he asks before he can bite his tongue. Idiot! It wasn’t his place to ask things so directly of the Fire-Lord!

But Azulon isn’t looking at him. He’s staring blankly at the scroll. Lae gapes when he’s actually answered.

“No. We’ve lost the battle against Ba-Sing-Se.”

“Sire?”

The scroll catches fire. “Prince Lu Ten is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUU I'm so sorry this was so late! I'm suuuper fuckin uhhh self-critical? Idk. I worry that it won't be interesting enough but my friends like "well, it's not like you're being paid so just write!" Oof. The style changed again- sorry not sorry.
> 
> All art for this chapter has been done by the INCREDIBLE 'Coralreefskim' on tumblr! Please go check out her blog for more awesome art! She's done young Sokka and Jaya! Here is the links seeing as I can't post it on the actual chapter (weird)
> 
> Sokka: https://coralreefskim.tumblr.com/post/177443016116/commission-for-lunabellie-this-is-based-on  
> Jaya: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aZ2Hn4tIbNyBpgfN3hqyCfeJnC6KWoHdTSnHRSdpY4U/edit
> 
> I also have a tumblr, so please feel free to pester me! It's 'Lunabellie' there too-- so if I'm ever absent for too long, drag me back from there.


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